“You don’t seem very sure about that.”
I fidget with the zipper on my sweatshirt. “Greece,” I repeat more definitively. “Santorini.”
“Pick one more.”
My zipper digs into my hand as I pull it up and down. “Brazil.”
“Ah. Carnival.”
“Yes. Carnival.”
He flips open the menu. “I’m not sure if we can get as specific as Santorini, but you never know here at crazy Artemis Piccola.” He scans the page in front of him. “Ahhh. Based on your choice of locations, you will be having a gyro followed by the feijoada.”
I reach across the table and take the menu from his hands. What kind of place is this? The menu is a freakish collection of dishes that have nothing whatsoever to do with one another. Spicy tuna maki is listed right after vegan lasagna, and the specials are an African curry (“Choice of meat!”) and a bacon-mushroom bison burger. I clear my throat. “And where are you going today?”
“Nowhere.”
I look up and frown. “Why not? Is the food that horrible?”
Christopher leans back in his chair. “No. I’d rather stay right here with you.”
“Oh.” I feel heat rise in my cheeks—although I can’t quite place the emotion. Excitement? Embarrassment? Whatever the feeling is, it’s something I haven’t felt in a long time. Feelings this intense make me undeniably nervous. I wonder if there is any chance that they serve liquor here. A shot or five of ouzo to go with my gyro might help me. I glance down. “So something local then. A cheddar cheese omelet and… What else? A whole cow? Is that Wisconsin-y enough for you?”
“Perfect!” He snatches the menu and makes a rather loud display of snapping his fingers while he calls out, “Waitress! Waitress!” He leans in conspiratorially. “The service here is atrocious.”
I cringe as he begins banging his fork against the water glass. And just when I thought he might be perfect.
“Do you have to do that every goddamn fucking time you come in here?” A thin young woman with closely cropped black hair appears at our table. Her voice is level, but the cursing makes her irritation obvious.
“Yes, I do. Otherwise you might ignore me and let me simply pass out at the table from hunger.”
She sneers. “If you weren’t making such a racket, I’d be more than happy to let you fucking collapse. What do you want?”
“I don’t want to hear my little sister sayfucking, and I do want to introduce you to somebody. Estelle, this is Blythe McGuire. Blythe, this is Estelle. My eternally cursing sister.”
Estelle puts her order pad and pen in one hand and reaches out with the other. “Pleasure to meet you. You must have incredible strength of character to be out dining with Christopher.”
“It’s very nice to meet you,” I say, fully aware of my messy hair and baggy sweatshirt. Especially next to Estelle, who is positively stunning. Any woman with hair that short has to be, because high cheekbones and sharp eyes are required to pull it off. Even with no makeup, her features are perfect. She is thin, probably too thin, with a boyish frame that makes her look like a model. I notice a good-sized cross that hangs from her neck, but she wears no other jewelry. Her look is simple and beautiful, and not one that I could ever pull off.
“Are you two hungry?”
Chris starts to order but is interrupted by a booming voice that comes from the entrance. “Christopher Shepherd! Have you stolen my girlfriend already?”
Chris shuts his eyes and laughs. “Go away! Go away!”
Sabin storms his way to our table with the fakest angry look that I’ve ever seen. “I cannot believe that you have betrayed me like this, my brother. We will duel over this princess, and I shall be victorious.”
Chris rolls his eyes. “Hi, Sabin. How are you?”
“HowamI? How do you think I am? I’m devastated, that’s how I am!” He pats Estelle’s arm before sliding into my booth and throwing an arm over my shoulder, glaring at his brother. Sabin drops his head onto my shoulder and lets out an exaggerated sob. “When did you get your nasty claws into my best girl? I was not expecting to have been so wronged by both my brother and my true love at once. I must try—no, Iwillwin her back, you scoundrel!”
I bite my lip to keep from laughing. “Sabin? As of earlier this morning, weren’t you in love with someone else?”
He pulls away. “Was I?”
“Yes. Chrystle, right?”
He slaps his forehead. “How quickly one forgets when caught up in the beauty that is Blythe. Yes! The fair Chrystle. I shall thus return my sights to her and leave you to the clutches of this less-than-dashing knight.”
