“Still pregnant,” she says, answering on the second ring. “Or did you call to talk about you?”
I chuckle. “Both.”
The drive to Benito’s is short, so after Jessa updates me on the adult coloring books, crying, and streaming shows she’s been watching, I update her on Benito.
“I don’t get it,” I tell her, checking my lipstick in the mirror at a ridiculously long stoplight. “I don’t get spooked by men. I don’t know what the hell happened.”
“That’s not true,” she says, and I can practically hear her shaking her head, the long, dark waves moving over her shoulders where she’s propped up in bed. “You don’t get serious. There’s a difference. Maybe this guy hit a nerve, babe. Do you like him? Like,like him, like him?”
I sigh. “I don’t know, Jess. We hooked up twice. I mean, I don’t know enough about him to like him or not.”
Jessa snorts. “I’d say any guy who can make you orgasm multiple times is more than a stranger, babe. You’re starting to get to know him, at least.”
I check my teeth for lipstick and then realize I’m obsessing over the stupidest little details and slam the mirror on my visor closed. “Well, I’ll keep you posted. Things might get a little complicated. I think he may apply for the small business development grant Culinary Capital is sponsoring.”
She sucks in a breath. “Oh, conflict can be juicy, but conflicts of interest? Never sexy.”
I sigh. “Pros before bros,” I chuckle. “It’s kind of my thing.”
“You’re a pro through and through,” Jessa assures me. “Maybe it’s time you let one of those bros come at least as close to you as your job.”
I know she means well, but I’m pulling into the restaurant parking lot. “I got to go,” I tell her. “Love you. Hydrate and rest,” I remind her.
“If I hydrate any more, my baby won’t be the only one in diapers,” she says wryly. “Love you. Call me soon. I’m almost through season three, so you know what that means…”
I shake my head and cut her off. “Jessa, you know how it ends.”
“I still can’t even.” She blows me loud kisses over my car’s speakers, and I end the call.
The parking lot of Benito’s is full. I scan the lot, but I don’t see Benito’s SUV anywhere. Maybe he takes Sundays off? That could be why Mags works every Sunday. My shoulders sag a bit. This could be good, or this could be a sign from the universe that I should not have made this spontaneous trip on a Sunday. On the one hand, if Benny is off, I won’t have to face him. But if he’s not working, Mags may be too busy in the kitchen to talk to me about the grant.
Either way, I’m here. And I’m in the mood for a great meal. I gather up my purse and my courage, and I head inside.
The elderly hostess is holding court at the front of a very busy waiting area. She’s sitting on a stool but hops up every few minutes to point long, painted nails or the ends of her glittery plastic glasses at someone whose table is ready.
“Darling!” she shouts over the low conversations. “Yes, I’m talking to you, Ed and Nina. Table for five is ready. Come on, now. Let’s get you seated.”
She motions to the people whom she obviously knows by name, jumps off her stool, and grabs an armful of menus. She notices me and nods. “Hello there, gorgeous. I’ll be right back with you.” But then she cocks her head at me and seems to look behind me for the rest of my party. “How many, love?” she asks. “Here for dinner?”
Nina and Ed and their kids are still gathering up toys and tying shoelaces, so I hold up one finger and nod. “Just me,” I say. “Table for one or a spot at the bar. Whatever works.”
She nods and grabs another menu, motioning for me to follow. I step aside to make room for the family who I assume will sit at one of the many tables between the lobby and the bar.
As I walk through Benito’s, I see table after table full. Not an empty seat in the house. This is exactly the type of crowd I would expect at a place like this on Sunday evening. Families and couples are here for Sunday dinner. Kids crying in high chairs. Teenagers slunk down in their seats, peeking at phones hidden in their laps. A table with two older women is rowdy with laughter, and the hostess points at them as we pass.
“Bev, Carol, keep it civil,” she shouts, laughably louder than the women at the table. “This is a family joint.”
One of the women barks a laugh and points at the hostess. “Rita, come join us when things slow down.”
The hostess, whose name must be Rita, shakes her head. “No rest for us working girls, ladies.” She turns to Ed and Nina before she sets the menus down on the table and gestures for them to take their seats. Then she jerks a thumb at me.
“Bar’s wide open, sweetheart. Take your pick.” She turns and walks back to the hostess station, so I head over to the bar and sit on the same tall stool where I was the other night.
A second later, I feel a hand at my elbow. “Excuse me.” The dad from the family who was just seated hands me a menu. “I think Rita gave us one extra. This one must be yours.”
“Oh wow. Thank you,” I say.
He nods and heads back to his table. I’m acutely aware of the fact that I’m alone, and I’m used to it, but the sense of being out of place hits me hard. Maybe it’s because everyone seems to know one another. I’ve worked in a few small towns before, but I’ve never been any place like Star Falls.
