I shrug. “Sure, why not. Of course, knowing my luck, I won’t be fit for the job since that seems to be the story of my life lately.”
“Didn’t you just graduate?” she presses.
“Yes, in hospitality management.”
“And you want to waitress now?” That’s a kick below the knees.
“I just need a job. You know, for that whole money thing?”
Kricket seems disturbed with my idea of job choices, but it won’t be so bad. I like to be on my feet and interacting with people. Plus, food is my thing. I don’t see how it’s not everybody’s thing, but it’s definitely my favorite thing in life.
“To each their own,” she says with a sigh.
A waiter approaches our table with his hands folded behind his back, indicating that he plans to memorize our order. “Can I start you ladies off with some beverages?”
“We’re ready to order, Kricket snaps.” The waiter looks taken aback by her tone, as I would.
“I will have the Cobb salad, and so will my sister,” Kricket spouts off.
The waiter nods his head with understanding and pivots his position to face me. “And you, miss?”
“The blue cheese turkey club looks amazing. I’ll have that,” I tell him. “Thank you.” I’m a big hearty sandwich gal, and they eat like birds. How fitting. I wonder if crows eat crickets. I wonder what their parents must be like.
“I’ll put that right in for you ladies,” the waiter says, gently slipping the menus out of our hands.
Kricket snarls at the guy as he’s walking away.
“Do you know him?” I ask her.
Kricket unrolls her napkin and whips it out to the side before placing it down on her lap. “No, I don’t know him. I just moved here. I don’t like the way he pointed his nose up in the air. It’s like ... we get it, you know food. Get over yourself.”
“Richard loved food,” Krow mutters, making whoever Richard is or was sound like he might be dead.
“We know,” Kricket responds quicker than I can comprehend the meaning of her statement. “Richard is her ex-husband.” With clarification to Krow’s muttered words, she glances out into the water, and her eyes fill with a film of tears. The wind blows against her flawlessly straight dark hair, and she looks like the focus of a silent contemplative scene in a sad movie.
These two are becoming stranger by the minute, and I’m thankful our food arrives fairly quickly. I spend my time focusing solely on the sandwich and keeping my mouth full at all times. It’s the only way to ensure I won’t have to start another conversation with these two turds.
“Hi there,” a voice startles me from behind.
I press my napkin up to my lips, as I’m caught mid-bite, and I turn around, finding a man dressed in white dress pants and a fitted navy-blue button-down shirt. He’s a bit startling with the intensity of his demeanor and good looks. “Hi,” I answer with my mouth partially full.
“Oh, I—I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to catch you with a mouth full. I’m Noah.”
“Oh,” is all I can think to say. I’m not sure why this man is introducing himself to me while I’m eating.
“Sorry, I—” he’s staring at me as if he recognizes me from somewhere, and it’s weird. “I’m Noah James, the owner of this restaurant.”
Shit. Awesome.Way to gome. Here is the answer I’ve been seeking. My lack of ability to read situations is most likely the reason why I can’t seem to find a job. I’m a simple idiot. “Oh, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to sound so rude. It’s just—”
Noah chuckles and drops his hands into his pockets, pulling my focus down to his bulge. Do men have noticeable bulges when they wear white pants? Why haven’t I noticed this before? Better yet, why am I still looking at this guy’s junk? He’s the owner here, the person who could give me a damn job. Maybe if I compliment his junk first, I’ll get the job.
Ah yes, is that thing real? If not, are you just happy to have an applicant?
It is real, Mr. Noah James. That’s fabulous. Good for you.
Could you hire me now?
I snap out of my thoughts and refocus my attention on the man’s face.
