“That’s awesome,” Alex said, grinning.
“It is,” I agreed. “Their kids are still around, and pretty much all of them work there, but the parents are the heart of the place.”
“That’s how it is with my dad and uncle,” he said, nodding. “I mean, they’re not in their eighties yet, obviously.”
“Your family owns a restaurant?” I asked in surprise. I was a little nervous now. The food where we were going was good, but it wasn’t fancy. If his family was in the food business, he might not be very impressed.
“No,” he said with a little laugh. “Sorry, I should have clarified. My dad and uncle own a logging business. They’ve handed it off to my brother and cousin, but they’re still a huge part of what makes the company what it is. I’m pretty sure that they’ll still be puttering around the office when they’re in their eighties.”
“Logging, huh?” I asked. “Take a right at the stop sign. It’s in the little strip mall with the dollar store.”
“Okay. I know that place.” He rolled to a stop and turned to look at me. “And yeah, logging’s a pretty big business back home.”
“Where are you from?” I asked. I hadn’t even thought about where his family was, even though I should have. I knew he was in the Army, so it made sense that he wasn’t from around here; I just hadn’t really connected the dots.
“I’m from Oregon,” he said. “The land of Christmas trees and weed.”
I let out a surprised laugh. “Well, those are interesting things to be known for.”
“I know, right?” He smiled. “I think we’re the Christmas tree capital of the world or something like that. It’s only recently that people started owning up to the weed part.”
“It’s legal there now, isn’t it?” I asked.
“Yeah,” Alex said, turning into the parking lot. “It’s legal. Most people still don’t do it, though. Some employers forbid it, so you might not get arrested, but you could still lose your job.”
“That makes sense, I guess.”
“I don’t know,” Alex said, shaking his head a little. “Employers don’t seem to have a problem with alcohol. Seems a bit hypocritical to me.”
He put the truck in park and got out, and I laughed as he practically ran around to my side so he could open my door.
“But don’t you think drugs are a little more serious than a glass of wine?” I asked, curious about his stance. I’d never really had a conversation about the ethical arguments of marijuana usage, and I couldn’t help but be a little fascinated by the way he spoke about it. Marijuana was still very taboo in the circles I was a part of.
“Not really,” he said with a shrug. He closed my door and set his hand on the small of my back as we walked toward the restaurant. “I know a lot of people back home who don’t smoke to get wasted. A couple hits at the end of the day to relax is pretty similar to having a glass of wine. Plus, there are a lot of pain-relieving properties that people choose to ignore because of the stigma attached to marijuana.”
“You seem passionate about it,” I murmured as he opened the restaurant door for me.
“Eh, I wouldn’t say passionate, exactly,” he said quietly. “Just probably more educated on the subject than most people around here.” He shrugged. “My dad has a bad back—hell, bad hips and shoulders, too. Weed’s the only thing that gives him some relief. Hard not to support that.”
I nodded in understanding as we stepped into the restaurant. The tone in his voice as he spoke about his dad left me feeling all warm and fuzzy. It was rare to hear men talk about their family with that type of love in their voice, especially on the first date.
“Sarai Levy!” Mr. Krakowski called as soon as he spotted me. He always said my full name like that, even though I’d been in to see him and his wife hundreds of times since I’d moved back. I suddenly realized that I probably shouldn’t have brought Alex to this particular place if I wanted to keep our meal simple.
“Hi, Mr. K,” I said as he kissed me on the cheek and hugged me hard. “How’ve you been?”
“These old bones are still holding me up,” he joked, a huge smile on his face. “I can’t complain.” He looked at Alex beside me and stood up a little straighter. “Hello, young man.”
Oh, crap. Choosing this place had been a terrible idea.
“Hello, sir,” Alex said, reaching out a hand for Mr. Krakowski to shake. “I’m Alex.”
“Malachi Krakowski,” Mr. K replied. “Welcome to my restaurant.”
I smiled lamely as Mr. K looked Alex over. Usually, he would have seated me at a table by the window by now, especially on a Sunday morning when they were busy.