Luke nods and echoes our enthusiasm as he rubs his belly. “Soooooo hungry.”
“All right, let’s find a place to eat lunch.” I turn my attention to Carol, the lady who read the book at story hour. I specifically avoid looking at Gracie, who is still standing with us, watching the weirdo lengths that I will go to when I’m trying to calm my kids down with one of those perfect brows lifted high on her forehead. “Ms. Carol, it was great meeting you. Kids, can you thank Ms. Carol for the fantastic story?”
While my kids mumble thank-yous, Carol is squinting and opening and closing her mouth until, finally, she blurts out, “Benito’s.”
“Excuse me?”
“Gracie, why don’t you take them to Benito’s?” Carol rushes on.
Grace huffs an odd sigh and slings her big purse farther back over her shoulder. “Carol, I don’t know if…”
“Is that a lunch place?” I ask, holding up a hand. “I don’t want to impose. We’re always in the mood for a drive-through food.”
“Drive-through,” Carol practically screams. “Coach, you’re new to Star Falls. Have you eaten at Benito’s Italian restaurant yet?” She peers down at Luke with a giant magenta smile that is so sincere it melts my heart.
This is what I expected of small-town living. One part meddlesome, one part enthusiastic, but completely backed by good intentions.
“Do you like pasta?” Carol asks the question like she’s asking kids if they want a meal of cookies—breathless and filled with wonder.
Luke’s eyes go huge, and I have to stifle a groan. Carol has said the magic word. All Luke ever wants to eat is pasta. I’ve probably gained ten pounds in carb weight since…well, since I’ve been cooking solo for these kids. “Pasta is my favorite.” Luke is beaming. “With red sauce,” he adds. “But I also love mac and cheese.”
He’s not showing any signs of shyness or anxiety. What the therapists have told me is to let my son lead the way. When he wants to talk, encourage it, but don’t make a huge deal out of it. The fact that he’s at ease in the bookstore, talking to these complete strangers, reassures me that the drama of the daycare hasn’t set him back too much, if at all. Even if I would be fine with a cold sandwich or a kiddie meal, if Star Falls has a pasta place, I’m thrilled to take a recommendation.
“So, buddy, does that mean you want to try a new place for lunch?” I ask him.
“Please, Dad. Can we?” Luke grabs my free hand and swings it, and I crumple inside.
I’d move into Benito’s and eat three pasta meals a day if it kept my son feeling happy and balanced. I look to Carol for reassurance. “Is it family-friendly?” I ask. “Cora still needs a booster seat.”
Carol barks a laugh so sharp that Cora flinches in my arms. “Is it family-friendly?” she cackles.
Grace holds up a tattooed finger. “All you need to know about Benito’s is right here.” She points to the jaunty frog prince on her arm. “My brother owns the restaurant. I happen to know that the place is exceptionally family-friendly. If you want, I’ll call ahead and let him know to give you a nice table on the terrace.”
I’m about to tell her that’s not necessary when Carol intervenes.
“Gracie, why don’t you take Coach Cooper to lunch? He’s new to town. He needs friends. You can be…his friend…”
The look on Grace’s face almost has me bursting out laughing. She’s huffing her cheeks and glaring, looking mortified and angry, and it’s the sweetest and yet sexiest combination imaginable.
I brace for the full eyebrow fury, but to my surprise, she sighs and turns to me. “I don’t know if your kids really want me crashing their lunch,” she says. “But I didn’t get a peanut butter crisp for breakfast, so I could eat.”
“You eat cookies for breakfast?” Luke picks up on that immediately, and I’m about to set him straight, when Grace tries to walk back her misstep.
“No way,” she tells him, bending slightly. “My…uh, dentist would freak out if I ate cookies for breakfast. But sometimes I skip breakfast, so I kind of think of the cookie as a lunch appetizer.”
“A lunch appetizer…” I chuckle under my breath. Before the woman gives my kids any ideas about how to skirt the few rules I do enforce around mealtime, I go back to her question. “Luke, Cora, should we invite Grace to join us for lunch today and go to Benito’s for pasta? Or would you rather have drive-through food in the car? Your choice.”
I know my kids and I’m sure what Luke’s going to say, but I figure Grace will feel more at ease hearing it from them.
“Pasta,” Luke says, nodding. “And Grace. Please, Dad.”
Cora tightens her arms around my neck and starts whining. “I’m thirsty, Daddy.”
“That’s close enough to a unanimous vote for me,” I say, meeting Grace’s eyes. “If you don’t mind playing tour guide through the culinary wonders of Star Falls, that is.”
“Dad, what is a…” Luke’s about to press me for a definition of culinary, but Grace is chuckling and nodding her head.
“I’m in,” she confirms.
