Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 78164 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78164 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
My breaths are shaky. “He’s flipped the script. It’s no longer that I’m afraid of making the wrong decision. I’m actually afraid of making the right one.”
A smile ghosts my lips as I get out of the car and head into the restaurant. I deliberately place one foot in front of the other, so I don’t hop back into the car and flee the scene of what I’m fairly certain is going to be a crime.
The restaurant isn’t busy, which is no surprise at this hour in the middle of the week. I’ve never felt so old in my damn life.
“Table for one?” A pretty blonde with a name tag reading Morgan approaches the hostess stand from the dining area.
I scan the room for Curtis. “No, actually, I’m supposed to be meeting someone here. Do you happen to know if there’s a man waiting on a woman?”
“There’s not. We only have three tables right now—two couples and a regular patron who always dines alone.” She grabs two menus from a stack. “I could go ahead and seat you, if you’d like. Or you’re welcome to wait out here. It’s totally up to you.”
I’m not sure what to do, but sitting alone feels slightly less awkward than standing near the door.
“A table would be great,” I say.
Morgan lets me choose where to sit, and I select a booth in the corner. Something about having my back to a wall is comforting. She takes my drink order and leaves me with the menus.
I blow out a breath, surveying my surroundings. The place is nice and clean. The handful of other patrons seem to be comfortable and happy with their food. It’s the kind of place that Kent would’ve taken me during our marriage. I’m not quite sure how to process that.
“Well, hello,” Curtis says, materializing out of thin air. He slides in the booth across from me. “You must’ve been right on time.”
“I was about five minutes early.”
“I’m always fashionably late. It keeps people on their toes,” he says, chuckling at himself.
Morgan appears with my glass of water. Her brow is furrowed, and I can only imagine what she’s thinking.
Curtis is slathered in a bottle of men’s cologne. His freshly cut hair is slicked back in a style that’s very unbecoming of him. He’s not a bad-looking man, but he’s not doing himself any favors with the attempted mustache.
“Hello to you,” he says to Morgan.
She stands next to me. “Can I get you something to drink?”
“Do you have a vino menu?” he asks.
Oh good God. I rub my forehead.
“Excuse me?” she asks, rightly confused.
“Wine,” I say, dropping my hand to my side. “He’s asking for a wine menu.”
“No. We don’t have one of those. We do have a chardonnay and a pinot grigio, if you’re interested.”
Curtis looks at me like he’s surprised. “I guess we’re drinking cheap tonight.” He then looks at Morgan. “I’ll have a glass of the chardonnay, and a glass of water with lemon. Two slices, if you can.”
“Sure.” She casts me a sympathetic smile. “I’ll be back for your order in just a minute.”
“Take your time,” Curtis says, picking up a menu. “We’re in no rush.”
My eyes meet Morgan’s in a silent plea not to do that. She gives me a slight nod and hightails it to the kitchen.
I pick up a menu, too, and try to shake my discomfort. I’m already here, and I agreed to this. Make the best of it, Ror.
“So what did you do today?” I ask.
“I had one hell of a day. My ex-wife called. We’ve been divorced for five years, and she still calls me to come over and fix the air conditioner. I should tell the bitch no, but I don’t. You’d think she’d figure out how to use a thermostat by now.” He sighs haughtily. “But, like they say, you can’t teach an old dog new tricks.”
I don’t know his ex-wife, but I instinctively feel the need to defend her.
“Growing up, we had a thermostat that never worked right,” I say. “My mother could never get it to kick on. My father always had to do it. It was a joke around the house. It only liked Dad.”
“Electronic things typically prefer men.”
“Excuse me?” I ask, my eyes widening.
“It’s not women’s fault. I think it’s something in their body chemistry that does it.”
I set my menu down, my blood heating. “You know, Curtis, I’m picking up a chauvinistic vibe here, and I should point out before we get too far into this that I’m not the one.”
“Here is your chardonnay and your water with two slices of lemon,” Morgan says, placing the drinks on the edge of the table. “Would you like to start with an appetizer or jump right into your entrées?”
“Double cheeseburger for me,” Curtis says. “Fries are fine on the side.”