She pulled out a notepad and untucked the pen from behind her ear.
“What will it be?”
“We’ll take the catfish dinner, BBQ chops, smothered turkey wings, skillet potatoes, green beans, baked macaroni and cheese, and two sweet teas.”
My eyes were wide by the time he finished placing the order.
“Was that too much?” He asked sheepishly.
All I could do was shake my head. I was starving, and by the look of food on everyone’s plate, I knew I was in for a treat. Everything looked delicious. The smell of spices and oil wafted from the door leading to the house. I could almost taste the flavors on my tongue.
This wasn’t the type of place I imagined Parker dining at. It was so informal, with the food served on aluminum trays and in black plastic baskets. Recalling his conversation with Mrs. Johnson earlier made me curious about his life here.
“What’s the story with Mrs. Johnson?”
His smile dimmed but remained on his face. The change in his demeanor left me feeling awkward. It was subtle, but I noticed.
“You don’t have to tell me.” I rushed out, trying to revive the happy mood that seemed to dissipate with my question.
“Nah, it’s all good! It’s kind of a funny story, actually. I was seventeen, and my dad had been telling me all school year that when summer came, I’d be interning at Gentry. I hated the idea. The older I got, the more I realized I didn’t want to follow my father’s footsteps in the family business. He thought I was lazy and I didn’t want to work.” Shrugging, he continued, “I just didn’t have the guts to tell him the truth.”
“So what did you do?” I asked, curiosity getting the better of me again.
“I lied and told him I already had a job lined up for the summer. He was shocked, and I knew right away he didn’t believe me. But I couldn’t get caught in the lie, so I looked just about everywhere in town for someone to hire me. Just when I was about to give up, I heard about an old woman who needed a busboy for her restaurant. I drove over here and begged Mrs. Odette to give me the job, and she did.”
“You really got lucky. Was your dad disappointed?”
This time, he didn’t try to mask the emotions bubbling beneath the surface.
“That’s one way to put it,” he muttered. “I think that’s when he started changing.”
He said the last part more to himself than to me. I wondered what he meant, but it felt like I had already overstepped enough.We both had our secrets and our reasons. I wouldn’t push him to tell me either.
“My senior year, I asked Mrs. Odette if I could come back for the summer, and she said yes. My parents…my dad had plans for me. But I decided to listen to the wise words of Mrs. Odette and follow my dreams.”
Beverly came right on time, carrying two large trays of food to our table. My mouth watered at the sight of it, and Parker rubbed his hands together in sheer excitement. We thanked her as she placed the trays in front of us, followed by the sweet tea.
Parker grabbed his fork and dug into the fried catfish. It melted like butter on his fork. He held the fork in front of me. “Take a bite and tell me what you think.”
Heat rushed to my skin. This felt intimate, like something friends or even lovers might do. Did he mean for me to take the fork from him? The fork was suspended in the air in front of me, and here I was overthinking a bite of catfish.
Girl, get it together.
I leaned forward and closed my lips around the fork. I closed my eyes as the flavors exploded in my mouth, and I couldn’t hold back the moan of satisfaction that came from my throat.
When I opened my eyes, I met Parker’s searing gaze as he shifted in his seat.
Thankfully, the moment was fleeting. I didn’t think I could endure another moment under his watchful eye. Every time he looked at me, it felt like he was trying to figure me out, dig beneath the surface where all my ugly parts reside.
He takes the fork and goes for his own bite of fish, sprinkling hot sauce on it before bringing it to his mouth.
“Damn. This is just as good as I remembered.”
“That was delicious,” I said in agreement, my eyes already seeking out the next dish to try.
Parker didn’t try to feed me again, and I was grateful for it. My cheeks were a permanent shade of pink around him. I chalked it up to being out of practice—being a recluse didn’t do wonders for my social skills.
He directed me on which foods to try next and asked my honest opinion about each one. In between bites, I asked him about his time here. He spoke about it so fondly, I wanted him to continue. Much of what I knew of his life here in Oakland Ridge seemed so dim. It was nice to hear him recall better memories of his hometown.
