Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 68413 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 342(@200wpm)___ 274(@250wpm)___ 228(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68413 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 342(@200wpm)___ 274(@250wpm)___ 228(@300wpm)
Standing on the sidewalk outside the restaurant where I’m meeting my date, I catch my reflection in the window. I inhale deeply and then let out a long breath. I’m not nervous about dinner. I know from past experience not to have high hopes for how the night will go. I also learned a long time ago not to put too much effort into dressing up—every time I’ve gotten home from one of these dates, I’ve been annoyed with myself for spending so much time on my appearance.
I settle on a pair of tight black slacks and a simple, sheer black blouse. I tuck it into my pants so it’s clear that my red belt matches my red heels. I keep my makeup simple, just adding untinted lip gloss to my lips. I wear my hair up in a bun, with a few wisps framing my face. Stepping into the restaurant, I scan the crowd. Palo said that my date, Walter, would meet me at the bar. He promised I couldn’t miss him because he’s movie-star handsome and really tall, with dirty-blond hair and striking blue eyes.
“Libby?”
A warm hand touches my arm, and I look up into a pair of blue—very blue—eyes.
Okay, so Palo was right.
The guy is handsome and very tall; even in my heels, he towers over me. He smells good, like subtle cologne and soap, and his gray-blue suit is killer and fits him like it was made for him. Judging by the quality, it probably was.
“Hi.” I smile at him.
“Well, Palo didn’t disappoint. You are as beautiful as he said you were.”
Okay. Wow. He’s handsome and sweet.
“Thank you.” I duck my head, feeling my cheeks get warm.
He chuckles. “Our table should be ready.” He places his hand against the small of my back and leads me toward the host. “Table for Yorks,” he says.
The woman standing behind the podium looks down at the iPad in her hand, touches a few buttons on the screen, and smiles at both of us.
“Follow me.” She picks up three menus, then leads us through the crowded restaurant.
The place is nice—maybe nicer than any restaurant I’ve been to before. The ambience is romantic, with beautiful artwork in nice frames hanging on the walls, each piece individually lit. The overhead lighting is dimmed to create intimacy, and the tables are all covered by white linen tablecloths.
“Here you are.” The hostess stops at a small table in the back of the restaurant.
“Thank you,” I say softly, and she smiles at me and then at Walter.
I slip off my coat and hang it on the hook near our table, then feel my lips part in astonishment when Walter gets close and holds my chair out for me. As I sit down, I watch him take his own seat across from me. I notice that he gave me the “good” view—where I can see the entire room. Soaking that in, I start to wonder if maybe this date might have actually been a good idea after all. As soon as I have that thought, though, Antonio pushes his way into my head. I grit my teeth and shove him right back out.
“The wine list.” The hostess nods as she sets it on the table, then does the same with the dinner menus. “Your waiter will be with you shortly.”
“Thank you,” Walter and I say at the same time before we watch her disappear.
“Palo tells me you do makeup and hair,” Walter says, picking up his napkin and resting it on his lap.
“I do.” I pick up my napkin and do the same, trying to remember if I have ever eaten at a place with fancy napkins before.
“Do you like it?”
“I used to. Now I don’t. Not really, anyway.” I admit the truth before I can think better of it. “I . . .”
“Why’s that?” He studies me, and I lean on the table with my elbows to answer, then quickly pull them back as I catch him smile.
I might not have ever eaten at a place as nice as this, but I’m pretty sure there is a rule somewhere about elbows on the table. And in a place like this, I’m sure elbows would be frowned upon.
“I’m not sure.” I shrug. “I used to love it. Now I just don’t feel that way. Don’t get me wrong—I enjoy my job. I love working for Palo. I just don’t know if it’s what I want to do with the rest of my life.”
“So what do you think you do want to do with the rest of your life?” he asks.
I sit back in my chair, realizing that twice in my life I’ve felt fulfilled and truly happy. And that both those times were when I was working at a pizza parlor.
“Maybe own a pizza parlor?” I admit.