“Yes,” Mike answered, smiling.“Mike Jones.”
She looked at a book on the podium.“Right.Mr.Jones, party of two.”She looked up and at Jamie more closely.“Jamie Puckett?”
“Um...yes.Do I know you?”
“It’s me, Melissa Osborne.We went to school together.”
“Wow, it’s been a while.”Jamie couldn’t believe it was the same girl he knew back in school.She was one of the ugliest girls in school.I wonder if she had work done?
“Yes, it has.I was truly sorry to hear about your grandparents.My condolences.”
“Thank you.They were quite special people.”
“They were.”She looked Jamie over quickly.“I heard that you closed the diner and are doing some renovations?”
“Yes.We’ll reopen in a few weeks.I hope.”
“That’s nice.”She looked at Mike and said, “Right this way.”
Jamie sat down and waited until she’d left.“That was a blast from the past.She’s definitely had her teeth straightened as well as her hair.It’s not nice to say, but she was downright homely when I last saw her.”
Mike smiled.“I can honestly say I’ve only run into a few of my old classmates when I’m home visiting my parents.I didn’t have many close friends in school.”
“Really?”Jamie leaned into the leather back of the booth where they’d been seated.“I’d have thought you were like the star quarterback or high school prom king.”
“Oh no.”Mike laughed.“I was a tall, gangly teenager.I didn’t start really growing up and working out until I joined the army.I grew four inches after I graduated high school.”
“Okay.That’s a surprise.”Jamie picked up the menu, scanning it.“All this is pretty simple stuff.Nothing really all that special.”
Mike leaned in towards Jamie.“See what I was saying?The things I’ve had here are average at best.Even I could cook a steak as well as they do.The shrimp scampi was okay.Not enough garlic in my opinion.”
Jamie nodded.“The real secret to a good shrimp scampi is cold white wine and cold butter to finish.It helps thicken the sauce.”
“And that right there”—Mike pointed to Jamie—“that’s what I was talking about.You know all this stuff.It’d be going to waste if you only cook for the diner.”
“Could we not...just not talk about any of...well, that?”Jamie didn’t look at Mike then.“I feel like my whole body might explode.”
“I’m sorry.”Mike reached out his hand, looking to take Jamie’s.“I don’t want to make you uptight or sad or...”his voice trailed off.“I really want to see you happy.”
A waitress approached.“Good evening, my name is Jennifer, and I will be taking care of you tonight.May I get you gentlemen something from the bar?”
Mike nodded towards Jamie.“May I have a glass of the Pouilly-Fuissé, please?”Jamie saw the ever so slight raise of her eyebrows.
“And for you, sir?”She asked, turning her attention to Mike.
“I’ll have the same, but can you bring a bottle?”
“Of course.Very good.”She wrote down the order.“Would you like to hear about the chef’s specials tonight?”
“Yes, please.”Jamie wasn’t holding out hope for anythingspecialabout the specials.
“He has prepared a low country special, shrimp and grits.It’s a traditional shrimp dish, with onion, garlic, and green bell peppers in a rich, savoury sauce.There is also the fish of the day, which is farm-raised catfish.It is batter dipped, deep-fried, and served with the house special coleslaw and French fries.”She smiled sweetly.“I’ll let you have a think about it and will be back with your bottle of wine.”
“She can’t be older than eighteen or nineteen,” Jamie said.“I wonder if she’s ever sold a full bottle of wine.”
Mike looked at Jamie.“I can assure you that she’s never been to Burgundy, France.”He chortled.
“Have you?”Jamie asked, interested.
