Page 21 of How We Fooled

Our waitress comes and takes our orders. He orders the lasagna while I order the ravioli.

“And what can I get you to drink?” the waitress asks.

I raise my eyebrows at Eli. “You up for a drink?”

“Just water for me, but please, order what you want,” he responds.

I turn to the waitress. “I’ll take a glass of red wine. Whatever you think is best.”

I reach for my ID before she even asks. She checks it, then nods her approval.

“I’ll be right back with your drinks.”

Before she leaves, another employee delivers our garlic bread. Eli is quick to dive in, but to my surprise, he hands me one first by placing it on the little plate they provided.

“You have to try it. They have the best garlic bread here. It’s so soft and not all hard, ripping up your mouth,” he says.

I pick it up and take a bite. He’s right; it’s nice, being on the softer side.

He takes a bite himself, nodding his head slowly as he chews.

The waitress delivers my wine.

“Thank you,” I say, then give my attention back to Eli. “Are you a wine drinker?”

He lets out a chuckle, shaking his head. “No.”

I shrug. “I blame it on growing up in Northern California. Living so close to Napa, we’d sneak away there whenever we could. Do you want to try it?”

He shakes his head again, picking up his water. “I’ll stick to my water. Thanks though.”

He reaches for his second piece of the garlic bread.

“Does your whole life revolve around food?” I chuckle.

He’s not ashamed when he replies, “Pretty much. I love to cook too. I’ll even cook for my teammates when we’re on the road.”

“Seriously?”

Again, he opens his arms wide, showing me his size with that knowing smirk, making me giggle.

“My friend Dalton got me into it. His parents are on the shitty side, and he got sick of eating out all the time or relying on what their maid would make.”

I open my eyes wide in question. “Maid?”

He lets out a small sigh with a nod and sits up, clasping his hands in front of him. “TimeLand, remember? Dalton’s dad is the CEO.”

“Oh shit. So, you know the people who own it? That must be crazy.”

He looks down and nods again, giving me the sense that he’s uncomfortable with something. “I’ve never had to tell anyone this. Most just already know …” He leaves his sentence just hanging there.

I look around in question like I’m missing something. “Know what?”

“Know about TimeLand and my dad’s involvement.”

“Oh, does he work there too?”

“He’s one of the creators.”

---