Page 65 of The Love Interest
“Oh. My apologies. You seem to be very fond of each other; it radiates from you. It’s a beautiful thing. Let me take you to your table.”
We’re led through the restaurant to a wooden balcony. We pass through rows of occupied tables to one that’s positioned in the very corner.
The waitress places two clipboards down in front of us. “You’re lucky,” she says as she pulls a lighter from her pocket and lights a circular candle in the middle of the table. “This is the best table in the restaurant. It’s usually booked for months, but there was a cancellation this afternoon. I was told to give it to the cutest couple I saw. I chose the two of you.” She smiles, then walks away.
We sit down. I realize that we’re up fairly high, overlooking the river. The lights from the restaurant are reflected as golden spheres in the black water. The table closest to us is occupied by a family of four. The youngest, a girl with curly yellow hair, is using her hands to reorganize the spaghetti on her plate into some sort of artwork. Her small face is smeared with tomato, and she’s grinning, which makes me smile.
I pick up the clipboard. Attached to the front of it in fancy golden paper is the menu.
“Get the chicken,” says Juliet. She’s staring at the menu, and her hair has fallen over her face in the way it always does when she looks down. “Trust me, you won’t regret it.” She laughs a slow laugh. “God, look at me bossing you around, Caden. Choose what you want, ignore me; I’m obviously a control freak.”
I place the menu down in front of me and rest my hands on top of it. The flame of the candle between us flickers. It smells like vanilla.
“The chicken sounds lovely.”
She mimics my movement and meets my eyes. Her long, thin hands rest on the paper. She’s obviously scrubbed her hands, but still, a faint trace of black grime is apparent on the top of them. Her nails are chipped and jagged.
She flips the menu over and looks at the back. “So we’ve decided? Ugh, now we have to wait ten minutes until she comes back so we can order.”
“Yeah, I wish there was a button or something I could press that would tell her we’re ready. Because, like, most of the time I don’t care about browsing the menu, I know what I want.”
“I know, right? But it feels sort of rude to not look at it, so a lot of the time I pretend to read it in case they’re watching. I imagine some poor chef looking out from the kitchen who has spent hours devising the perfect dish only for people to ignore it because they know what they want and never question that or try something new. It must be heartbreaking.”
I look over at the kitchen. A big man in a chef’s uniform is barking orders at a boy dressed in black. The boy’s shoulders are hunched, and his eyes are semiclosed, almost like he’s wincing. It’s like,Please-don’t-talk-to-me-and-let-me-do-my-job.The chef barks one last thing, and then the waiter sprints out of the kitchen carrying two steaming plates of pasta.
I look back at the chef. My heart does not break for him.
“So how is Starbucks going?”
“It’s all right. It’s part of my routine now, I barely even notice it. I feel bad, though, because Levi is such a nice guy, but the store is always pretty quiet. He thinks he’s going to get fired. It’s the only Starbucks on the planet that isn’t always crowded.”
“That’s a shame. The coffee is great there, everyone knows it, but it’s a small town and there aren’t many people here who want to spend five dollars on coffee no matter how nice it is. We’re instant-coffee types here, if you hadn’t realized.”
“That’s kind of sweet, actually.”
“Sweet in the boy kind of way or in the girl kind of way? Like, is it awesome or is it cute?”
“Both.”
She laughs, tilting her head back. The waitress returns.
“Ready to order?” she asks, placing a water carafe and two glasses on the table.
“Pesto chicken fettuccini,” I say.
“Me too,” says Juliet. “But it was my idea, not his. Just so you know.”
The waitress ignores her and quickly grabs our menus. “Great choices! That’ll be out in a sec.”
Juliet breathes in contentedly, and her eyelids dip slightly. “All right, question two. What’s your favorite food? I know that seems like a random question, but we just ordered mine, and I’m curious about yours.”
I think it over, then decide to be honest.
“Blueberries,” I say.
She leans forward. “Like, just blueberries?”
I blush. “Yeah.”
