Page 13 of Bookish Boys Don't Date Social Girls
I watch him approach the other customer with the same polite smile he gave me and my heart sinks. I have absolutely no impact on him whatsoever. I think of Barista Boy and Hot Dog Cart Guy and Yoga Boy. They would all brighten when they saw me coming. Brent scowls. Any conversation I started with those other boys soon turned flirtatious. With Brent, it remains one hundred percent on the topic of books and reading. Brent leads the customer over to another section of books. He leans down to pluck a book off the shelf, and he hands it to the man. Everything he is doing now is the exact same way he did it with me.
Could it be that Brent Post doesn’t find me attractive? I turn away and head down the stairs to buy my book from Callie. My thoughts are a fog of confusion. If Brent doesn’t like me, I’m not sure I know how to change his mind.
Chapter Seven
I contemplateInes and Lincoln across the table. They’ve pulled their chairs close so that their shoulders rub as they sit. Lincoln’s hand rests in Ines’s lap, their fingers entwined. They are both glowing, and I don’t think it’s just because of the propane fire crackling merrily in the center of our table. I look at Bridget and rethink it. She looks rather glowing too. Maybe the firelight is complimentary.
It's a warm night. The fire is set on the lowest setting, barely giving off any heat. It’s basically a huge candle in the middle of the dining table of the rooftop restaurant where we’ve gathered. We sit under the stars, ready to taste-test food for the happy couple’s wedding reception. I’m so hungry, I want to tuck my napkin into my collar and hold my utensils like I’m going to stab someone if they don’t serve me soon.
The caterer and her assistant bring out our first selections. Plates are set in front of each of us with five choices of appetizers.
“You will be choosing three appetizers,” the caterer explains. She tells us what each of them is and gives detailsabout the fancy ingredients or preparation that is involved in each of them.
My stomach growls loudly, and Bridget snorts and pushes me. I open my mouth widely and pretend I’m going to eat the entire plate in a single bite, which makes my sister snort a second time. Mom lifts an eyebrow at us, but I see the side of her lips twitch. She’s fighting a smile and is probably as hungry as I am.
We’re finally allowed to eat. I scarf down all five choices, barely taking time to notice if I like them or not. Let’s be honest here. It isn’t like I have a discerning palate. I’m just here to enjoy the food. This is totally up Mom’s and Dad’s alley. I’m pretty sure that’s why Ines and Lincoln invited them both. Lincoln’s mom is here as well. She might be the sweetest mother ever in the history of the world. I totally get why Lincoln is so fun and easy-going. I have zero complaints about my parents, but that doesn’t mean I don’t admire qualities other parents have that mine don’t, and Lincoln’s mom’s sweet, nurturing way is definitely enviable to a girl raised by parents who considered her independent and capable by my second birthday.
Mom asks the caterer a question about the mushroom stuffed pastry – which has a much fancier name than that. It’s one of those questions that makes Bridget, Ines, and I exchange a look that says, “What the heck is she even talking about?” However, I’m surprised when the caterer doesn’t do a back flip, she’s so excited to share the answer with Mom. The entire conversation is over my head, but Mom is duly impressed by whatever it is the caterer is going on about. Mom’s eyebrows are arched, her head is cocked, and she’s nodding. All strong acceptance cues from Amanda Jones, restaurant connoisseur and foodie. Dad is explaining some of the nuances of each appetizer to Ines, Lincoln, and his mom.Bridget and I giggle when Ines looks at us as if to say, “Save me now.”
Next, we are served plates with an arrangement of three different salads. I scowl at it and Bridget snorts again. Her fork is already poised and ready to stab the lettuce on her plate while I’m wondering if it would be insulting for me to pass altogether.
Something the caterer says catches my attention. “Wait, did you say there are anchovies in one of these salads?”
The caterer nods.
I look at Ines. “Please don’t pick that one. Bek probably won’t even walk into the room if she knows there is an anchovy under the same roof. She has a fish allergy and she takes every opportunity to remind me.”
Ines squints. “How often do you eat anchovies?”
“Never. I don’t even know what they taste like, but for some reason, that little fish is a trigger for her.”
“Is Bek still as flighty as she was when she was little?” Ines asks.
Dad snorts and says, “More so, I think.”
“Dad!” I scold.
Ines grins and looks up at the caterer. “Which one has the anchovies?”
The woman points.
“Please make note that we won’t be choosing this one and that there cannot be any anchovies in the building the night of our wedding.”
The caterer nods. “Then you’ll choose one of the remaining two, or I can prepare the third without the anchovy.”
She leaves and I thank my sister. I think it’s super sweet of Ines and Lincoln to be inviting our best friends to the wedding too. She knows Cisco’s and Justice’s friends better than minebecause Ava, Bek, and I were only ten years old when she moved out. Bridget doesn’t even have the same friends she had then, so Ines doesn’t know them at all, but she’s including them anyway.
I sigh and decide to at least try a bite from each salad. It’s official, anchovies are disgusting. When I’m finished, I shrug and swap my plate with Bridget’s empty one. She grins at me and scarfs up my salad as well.
Next, we get to try the main dishes. I’m in heaven as I eat my way through the filet mignon, chicken marsala, butternut squash ravioli, and the seared scallops. We’ve already ruled out the seafood dish, though it was scrumptious. When Ines and Lincoln can’t decide which dish not to offer, Mom tells them to choose them all and ask people to rsvp with their meal choice. The caterer confirms they can accommodate that and explains what that does to the price structure, but Mom and Dad both wave that concern away.
“Your lovely dishes need to be enjoyed, dear.” Mom pats the caterer on the arm. “If you can accommodate it then so can we.”
“Thank you so much, Mom and Dad,” Ines gushes. “That will be so nice to be able to offer such a strong selection of foods.”
Bridget leans toward me and pitches her voice low. “Are you bringing a date to the wedding?”
I look at her. “Can I?”
