Page 23 of Intermission
“What?”
“I’ll come around and open the door for you.”
He doesn’t wait for my reply. A moment later, he wrenches the door open with the eardrum-searing twang of metal on metal.
“Well, it’s not the most elegant form of chivalry,” he says with a wink, “but a guy has to work with what he’s got, right?”
I slide out of the car, jumping a little at the force with which Noah slams the door shut.
“Sorry. Eliza requires a strong hand. It’s part of her charm. Do you want my coat?”
“Thanks, but I’m fine. We’re just walking across the street.”
The café is comfortably warm, and the aromas of baking bread and foamy coffees make it cozier.
“I’ve never been here before.” Each wall is painted a different playful hue. The dining area features a mismatched collection of distressed tables and chairs. “It’s charming.”
“Yeah, I guess it is. I never noticed. The food is really good,though.” Noah looks around the room as if seeing it for the first time. “What? Did I say something funny?”
“You sounded, well,normalthere for a second.”
Noah’s eyebrows go up—way up—and I realize what I’ve said.
“Not that you’re not normal.” Heat flames in my cheeks. “I mean, well, you sounded like a regular teenage boy there for a second. Like the guys at school. They all act like they’re completely famished all the time. When food enters the room, they see nothing else. I usually get out of the way. Someday one of them is going to bite off one of my fingers, if I’m not careful.”
“I’m nineteen, so technically Iamstill a teenager.” He shrugs.
“True. But you don’t really act like one. That’s a good thing,” I’m quick to add. “It’s nice to talk to someone who has more on his mind than the big game or who might buy them some beer.”
“Ahh.” Noah gives me a cockeyed smile. “I do suffer from a ravenous appetite occasionally, but I promise to try and restrain myself from biting or otherwise endangering your fingers.”
“My fingers appreciate your interest in their safety.”
We examine the chalkboard menu, then order and find a table while we wait for our food. Our drinks are delivered. Out of habit, I reach for the salt shaker and sprinkle some onto my napkin. When I look up, Noah’s head is tilted at on odd angle. His expression, puzzled.
“Salt keeps the glass from sticking to the napkin,” I explain. “Seriously. Try it.”
With a shrug and a sideways smile, he lifts his glass and shakes a bit of salt onto his napkin.
We chat about everything from school, to his job, to family, his move from Eastern Europe to Iowa...
“You’re very easy to talk to, Madeleine Faith.” Noah tilts his head. “Something wrong?”
“No. It’s just... nobody calls me Madeleine Faith except my Grandma. It’s a little strange to hear it from anyone else.”
“Sorry. It just has a ring to it. It rolls off the tongue. I can stop if you—”
“No. I’m not used to it, but I like it.” I take the lemon wedge from the side of my glass and squeeze it into my water. “Want to know asecret?”
“Do tell.”
“I was thinking of using Madeleine Faith as my stage name. You know, like Faith is my last name instead of Prescott.”
“I like it.”
“I signed up for the musical with my full name. If I get the part, everyone’s going to call me Madeleine, so I guess I’d better get used to hearing it.”
“I think you’ll get the part.”
