chapter three
“Sometimes, I eavesdrop on conversations with my headphones on, you know, to not appear suspicious, and listen to life. It’s quite amazing what loose-lipped soccer moms say when given seven shots of espresso and a baked good. My advice if you’re shit out of luck in the love department and need a little pick me up? The coffee shop is a gold mine of information. Case in point, last year I learned how to stuff a turkey and found out how to get wine out of a tablecloth, all because Molly was having a bad day. Oh, and I got a free coffee for smiling at her. See? A smile: worth a thousand compliments. Sometimes in life, you just need to pause, listen to other conversations, invade, and make the world a better place, one yoga pants-wearing soccer mom at a time.”
~From Max Emory’s Guide to Dating and Other Important Life Lessons
Maddy
It had been a mistake, returning to New Haven. I’d known that the minute the thought crossed my mind. Heck, the minute I pulled into town it had taken every ounce of strength I had to pass the first few stoplights and navigate the familiar route to my parents’ house.
The one right next to Jason Caro’s.
The window I crawled into…
The window I crawled out of…
The roof I got drunk on for the first time…
The mailbox I hit while driving Jason’s truck…
Memories had full-on assaulted me while I made my way around the little subdivision, but nothing was worse than seeing that driveway empty.
Because it was just another reminder that I’d left him; that I was the one who had freaked out, bailed, and run as fast as my legs could take me.
That driveway used to have his favorite red truck parked out front. He’d done all his own detail work on it and, to this day, I was pretty sure there was still a black mark on the cement where the exhaust had sputtered and stained.
“Ma’am?” A deep male voice barked in my direction. “I asked if the Caesar salad was gluten-free?”
I was at my new job.
As a waitress.
Daydreaming about my best friend/ex-boyfriend from high school, and waiting on people who paid more for a steak than I made in a year. I was officially back in the one place I couldn’t leave fast enough. Well, that wasn’t officially true. I’d left because I had no choice, but still, nobody liked admitting defeat.
“Um, actually no.” I forced a polite smile and tucked my light strawberry blonde curls behind my ear. “It has croutons, so that’s gluten.”
I bit my tongue to keep from blurting out that all bread has gluten unless it said gluten-free. Maybe the diet was new to him.
The man’s eyebrows drew together in a frown as he peered over his spectacles. “Can’t you order gluten-free croutons?”
“We can…” I said helpfully, my feet aching from standing all day. I shouldn’t have pulled a double shift, but I needed more money if I had any hope of moving out of my parents’ house. “…but we don’t have any available. I’m so sorry. Why don’t you try the house salad? Or possibly the spinach with our house-made vinaigrette?”
“Well,” he tossed the menu in my direction, “that just ruins my whole meal. I was hoping to enjoy a Caesar.”
I ground my teeth together before answering, “How about I just have the chef make a Caesar without the croutons?”
“A Caesar…” the man repeated, low in his throat, “…without croutons?”
You’d have thought I’d just told him to celebrate the Fourth of July without a hotdog while I was running over the flag wearing an I-heart-Canada shirt.
“Oh, Pete.” The woman sitting opposite of him waved her heavily jeweled hand and gripped her goblet. “You don’t need the carbs.”
“True.” His mood changed dramatically as he lifted his wine into the air and clinked his glass against hers. “I’ll take the salad without croutons and the New York sirloin, rare, with mashed potatoes and the asparagus, please.”
She grinned her approval, her white teeth momentarily blinding me.
Blinking to regain my focus, I stared her down, waiting for her order.
“The same.” She nodded then held up her hand. “Except, no dressing on the salad, no dairy in my potatoes, and make sure the meat is well-done.”