True, there are aspects of her personality that rub my feathers the wrong way some days. But not every person is perfect. And she’s trying. Which means I should try too.
Which is why I accepted the invite she’d extended to join her husband, Richard, and her for dinner.
I’m going to eat out. At a restaurant!
This won’t be the first time I’ve eaten out in my life. Sometimes, my father would take me to a diner in the small town near our house. But we’d go late at night when the place was a ghost town.
I’ve also bought myself lunch at Coffee & Claws and Mary Jo’s bagels a few times. Sat at their tables. Surreptitiously observed the other diners. Reveled in the simple freedom.
Longed to have another at my table to share the experience with.
Tonight, that tiny dream is coming true.
Maybe this will be the time that Georgiana, Richard, and I make a connection. That we maneuver past polite, stilted conversations and become true friends. I have so few of those. I want to find more.
But I doubt anyone will match the natural closeness I feel with Broderick.
Just the thought of the witch has me smiling.
With joy warming my body, I continue the conversation. “This restaurant is one of the stops on my route, and every time I go into the building to collect the recycling, the food they’re cooking smells delicious. I’m looking forward to trying some.”
“I’m sure you are.” Georgiana turns even more, her seat belt pressing hard into her magenta shift dress. “And you know, I was just thinking. Now would be a perfect time for you to look into classes at Ramla University. There’s plenty of time for you to sign up for the fall semester. Soon enough, you could level up your career aspirations.” She wrinkles her pert nose. “You don’t want to be collecting garbage for your whole life, I’m sure.”
My warm happiness cools, and I forcefully relax my jaw, which wants to clench at her dismissive tone. For one, garbage and recycling are two totally different things. And two, even if Iwerea garbage collector, that’s still an important profession for people to have. I doubt Georgiana wants her trash piling up in her perfectly paved driveway.
But the siren makes a good point about the potential of going to the university. I like the idea of being able to attend the classes. Ones about topics that I choose. Getting the chance to educate myself on subjects that my father’s homeschooling never touched on.
To explore this wide world that is now open to me.
And maybe see a little more of a certain professor in the process.
“That’s a good idea. I’ll look into that this week.”
“Oh, good!” Georgiana claps her hands. “And I’ll be on the lookout for job openings.” She raises an eyebrow and tilts her head toward her husband, who seems content to drive the car and listen to a quietly playing podcast about fishing. “Accounting is always a great profession choice, you know. You can help out many businesses.”
And once again, I have to fight a grimace. Math was something that I got plenty of during my childhood. I was in charge of the finances for my father’s farm. Not that I was allowed to keep any of the money for myself. One more way that I felt trapped in my old life. I’m glad that I know how to dealwith money now. But numbers don’t excite me the way classes on history, public relations, or creative writing do.
Still, I force a smile and a nod and try to think of subjects that we could discuss over dinner that won’t have me fighting off disagreeable words. Luckily, Richard asks Georgiana to sit back so he can look behind us while he parallel parks the car on Main Street.
We’ve arrived at Knives & Fangs.
The fine-dining restaurant is busy for Thursday night, but I assume that’s often the case when living in a small town and there’s only a certain number of places to eat. I hope there’s enough business to support another restaurant, recalling how Niko mentioned wanting to open his own soon. The proprietors of Knives & Fangs might not appreciate the competition.
The hostess smiles at Georgiana and Richard first, and then her gaze lands on me. Once again, I’m wearing my red dress with its little white flowers—the only dress I own—and I smooth my hands over the skirt, hoping I’m properly dressed for this place.
The woman gives me a little wink and smile before saying, “The rest of your party is already here.”
The rest of our party?
Confused, I follow the group to the table. I thought it was just going to be the three of us. Georgiana didn’t mention anyone else when she invited me to dinner.
Maybe I misunderstood?
Maybe I was too nervous and missed part of what she said?
I breathe through the spike of panic that likes to jab me when plans get changed and instead remind myself that this night is one more adventure in the new, improved version of my life.
As we weave between tables, the hostess brings us to a four-top, where a man who looks to be in his late twenties or early thirties sits. He has a handsome face with a square jaw and dark hair that is neatly styled. His eyes are milky blue and crinkle atthe corners with his welcoming smile as he stands and holds out a hand to Richard.
