by Shay Savage
“Right this way, Mr. Orso.” The host gestures with one arm and cradles menus with the other.
“Oh! That was quick.” Cherry looks over at the waiting guests as they look back at us with narrowed eyes as we’re led away.
The host stops at a small table for two, still covered in dirty glasses and dessert dishes. I glare at him, and he stammers out an apology.
“We’re short-staffed tonight,” he says. “I’m so sorry! I’ll get rid of this right away!”
“It’s not a problem, really,” Cherry says. She gives him a kind smile as he rushes to clear the table.
Once the table is clean, we sit down and order drinks.
“Do you come here a lot?” Cherry asks.
“Somewhat,” I say. “Cascade Falls is a little short on fine dining experiences, but this place has good food and drinks. I like the atmosphere, and it’s usually not this busy.”
“It’s a nice night,” Cherry says. “Nice weather at the end of winter tends to bring people out.”
“I suppose that’s true. Do you drink wine?”
“I do.”
With Cherry’s approval, I order a nice bottle of red that isn’t too expensive, feeling like I need to make up for the stupid car. Pops bought the damn thing, and I was never even allowed to drive it before.
Before.
I shake my head to clear it.
“I have no idea what to order,” Cherry says. “It all looks so good.”
I make a couple of suggestions, and Cherry eventually makes up her mind. Of course, the server is nowhere in sight now. I see a few waitstaff rushing back and forth between tables and the kitchen but not the one who took our drink order and then disappeared.
“They really are busy!” Cherry glances up with a rather nervous chuckle.
I don’t like to wait—never have—and it’s probably starting to show. I’m accustomed to being served immediately, and I absolutely refuse to wait in line anywhere. I take a deep breath and fake a smile, wishing I had a drink so I could make some dumb-ass toast to relieve the tension.
A completely different server stops by and asks to take our drink order. I explain through gritted teeth that we’ve already ordered a bottle of wine, and she rushes off to find it without asking if we are ready to order anything else.
She comes back fairly quickly with the bottle in hand but no glasses. She stammers an apology, brings the glasses right away, but then rushes off again saying she’d be back for our food order in a minute.
“Can I get you an appetizer?” A new guy walks up, clearly the manager. “Oh! Mr. Orso! What a pleasure to see you again!”
“It’s all yours,” I grumble. “Do you think we could order now?”
The manager takes our order, and the original server comes back with another bottle of wine, stares for a minute at the bottle on the table, and then runs off without a word.
This is not going well, and I have no idea what to do to fix it. I’m tempted to threaten the server, but that’s not the sort of thing I can do in front of Cherry. As someone who has worked in a restaurant, she’s probably very familiar with the other side of this scenario and already told me how she felt about people who are rude to waitstaff. My body tenses as I hold in the anger, trying desperately not to show what’s going on inside of me and fearing that it’s not working.
“Nate, are you all right?” Cherry asks.
Just then, a busboy walks by with a tray of dirty dishes, slips, and everything goes flying. Glass shatters, and what appears to be rice pudding lands on my shoes. Cherry cries out as she’s splattered with cola.
“What the fuck?” I stand, unable to control the fury inside of me for a moment as I turn on the busboy.
“Sorry! Sorry!” He crouches and starts picking up broken glass. One of the waitstaff stops to help, handing Cherry a handful of napkins to dry herself off.
“Kick him in the head!” Pops says, leaning against the wooden divider between tables.
My body tenses, and I can see myself do it. I can picture my foot slamming into the side of the young man’s head, splitting his temple open. I clench my hands and glance at Cherry. She’s dabbing her dress with a napkin, but it’s clearly not working well.
I can’t do this—not in front of her.
I stand there, silently seething. As the mess is cleaned up, I continue to remain where I am, afraid of what I will do if I move. The busboy stands carefully, tray full of broken dishes balanced precariously on his shoulder, and scampers away to the kitchen.
“How about we just go?” Cherry says. I can hear the nervousness in her voice, but I can’t come up with any calming words.
“I’m…I’m going to clean my shoes,” I say through gritted teeth. “We’ll go then, all right?”
“Of course.”
The manager spots me as I head toward the restroom.
“I’m so sorry, Mr. Orso. Dinner is on the house, of course.”
“What dinner?” I snap at him. “It didn’t even fucking arrive yet! Do you really think the cost of dinner would replace these shoes?”
“I’d be happy to replace them, Mr. Orso.”
“Fuck you!” He’s lucky there are so many people around, or I’d probably pick him up and throw him through a window. I can’t do that though—not with Cherry here. I lower my voice. “It’s probably best you just step away from me, fire that fucking moron, and consider a career change yourself.”
I walk away, leaving him stammering behind me. I shove open the door to the men’s room and lean hard against the sink, seething.
I needed this night to go perfectly. I needed Cherry to be swept off her feet and madly in love with me in record time, and I can hardly do that with rice pudding on my shoes.
“Motherfucker!” I grab a towel, wet it, and do my best to get all the crap off the Italian leather. Once my shoes are relatively clean, I stare at my reflection in the mirror.
I’ve really fucked this up.
I can’t let Cherry see me like this. I check over my shoulder, hoping for some advice from Pops, but he’s nowhere to be found. I close my eyes and spend a moment tensing and releasing all my major muscle groups until I have a bit more control over myself. With one more look in the bathroom mirror, I take a deep breath and shove the door open.
Plastering a smile back on my face, I return to the table. I glance at Cherry, who is staring at me, still wide-eyed and nervous.
“Shall we go?” I manage to sound calm, at least.
“Of course.”
The valet brings the car around, and I help Cherry in before taking my own seat, but I don’t drive off right away. I’m not even sure where to go.
“Look, Cherry…” My voice trails off and I sigh. I have no idea how to begin to repair this.
“It’s all right, Nate. Really, it is.”
“It isn’t.” I breathe slowly and try to relax my shoulders.
I need to regain control of myself before I completely fuck everything up and have to start all over again, probably with another girl. The problem is, Cherry is perfect because she’s not from Cascade Falls, and all the other women are. They already know me or at least think they do. With Cherry, it’s different. I want it to be different.
“I wanted you to have a good time tonight,” I finally say. “Nice dinner, maybe a nice drive out to the park…fuck! This is a mess.”
“Well, a calm, relaxing dinner is nice but not nearly as good of a story,” Cherry says with a chuckle. “None of it was your fault. They were just a bit overwhelmed tonight. Chalk it all up to being Friday the thirteenth.”
“Is it?” She’s right though I hadn’t thought about it before now.
“Are you superstitious?” Cherry asks. “I was only joking.”
“Maybe a little.” I sigh and manage a smile. “Bad luck or not, I want to make this up to you. Maybe we can go to a place out of town with more options.”
“It’s getting a little late for dinner at this point,” Cherry says.
&
nbsp; My chest tightens. I don’t want the night to end before it’s even begun, but she’s right. It’s after eight o’clock, and we can’t drive to another town, find a restaurant, order dinner, and eat it before it will be way too late.
“There are some bars I could take you to.” As soon as I say it, I realize it’s a mistake. “They’re loud though, not places where we can actually talk. Not great food, either. I don’t suppose you gamble at all?”
“Like slot machines and such?”
“Yeah. There’s a casino on the south side of town.”
“I went to Atlantic City once,” Cherry says. “It really wasn’t my scene.”
“No casino then.” I rack my brain, trying to come up with a decent alternative, but Cherry beats me to the punch.
“Do you want to just go back to my place?” she says suddenly. “I mean, I’m not much of a cook, but I can keep us from starving. No long drive or waiting required.”
“Are you sure?” I look over at her, trying to read her expression. When guys say, “Come back to my place,” their meaning is usually obvious, but I’m not so sure about women.
“Why not?” She shrugs, her expression still unreadable.
A short time later, we step into her apartment, and Cherry heads straight to the bedroom to change out of her stained dress. I’m tense again but not for the same reason. I wasn’t expecting to end up at her place, and it puts all the carefully considered steps to my plan in a different setting—one I’m not prepared for, and now I don’t know what to expect. I also can’t stop thinking about the fact that Cherry is probably getting naked in the other room.
I shake my head to clear it of the images and take a moment to look around.
The apartment is small, and a lot of boxes are still unpacked, but it’s nice enough. Reid has definitely made a lot of improvements to the outside of the building, but I hadn’t been inside before. I look around for decorations or pictures—something that would give me more insight into Cherry’s personality—but all I see is a plant in the kitchen.
Cherry comes back in jeans and a green blouse that brings out her eyes. Though the look is the opposite of her previous attire, she’s still stunning.
“I’m starving!” she announces. “The specialty of the house is peanut better and jelly sandwiches complemented by a bottle of wine I got at the dollar store.”
“You bought wine at a dollar store?”
“Not really.” Cherry snickers. “It is from the drug store at the end of the block though. It cost more than a dollar but not a lot more.” She holds up a bottle of Pink Moscato with the image of a foot on the label. “It’s not bad for what it is.”
“It looks, um…”
“Cheap?”
“Yeah.” I laugh.
“I guess that’s not what you’re used to, huh?” She narrows her eyes at me, and I wonder if I’m treading into some dangerous, unknown territory.
“It’s not,” I say, carefully choosing my next words, “but it wouldn’t be a new experience if I’d had it before.”
“What wine do you usually pair with PB and J?” Cherry asks as she hands me the bottle and a corkscrew.
“Oh, maybe a Chateau Latour red.” I tap my finger on my chin, pretending to ponder.
“I have no idea what that is.” Cherry pulls a jar of peanut butter and a loaf of bread from a cupboard and places them on the kitchen counter.
“Pretentious wine from France, naturally.”
“Well, this is a very pretentious peanut butter,” she tells me, pointing at the label. “No store brands here!”
“Well, I’m glad to hear there are standards!”
“Did you think I didn’t have any?” Cherry looks at me out of the corner of her eye, and I’m not sure if the banter is supposed to continue or not.
“I just hope I don’t fall short,” I say quietly.
We lapse into a brief silence as I pour the wine, and Cherry makes the sandwiches. She has one of them done when she begins to search through a drawer.
“Something wrong?” I ask.
“Just trying to find the spatula,” she says. “Here it is! I’m still running into post-move, where-the-hell-is-that-thing issues.”
She starts to dig into the peanut butter jar, scraping the sides.
“I’m not sure you have enough left in there for a second sandwich.”
“There is always—and I mean always—one more sandwich worth of peanut butter in the jar.”
She’s right. By the time she’s done, there is plenty of peanut butter on the bread, and the sides of the jar are almost completely clean. We sit down at her small kitchen table, and she holds up her wine glass.
“To second dinners,” she says.
“And spatulas,” I add.
“And spatulas!”
We clink glasses, and I feel myself finally start to relax and forget the restaurant. Maybe I can salvage this night after all. The problem is the unexpected setting. By this point, I had expected us to be driving around the lake and stopping at a romantic spot near the docks, not sitting in her apartment.
“Well?” Cherry asks pointedly after I take a bite of the sandwich.
“It’s really good,” I answer honestly.
“Everything is good when you’re about to starve to death.” She laughs.
“No, really,” I say. “This is great! I haven’t had a PB and J since I was a kid, but they were always my favorite for school lunches.”
She eyes me for a long moment.
“What?” I ask.
“I’m just trying to picture you as a kid with a brown-bag lunch.”
“And?”
“It’s a bit…incongruous.”
“The kid part or the brown bag part?”
“Both.”
We nibble at our sandwiches while engaging in light conversation. Though we don’t hit on any deep subjects, nothing feels superficial. In fact, I’m beginning to feel remarkably comfortable sitting in her tiny kitchen with a glass of cheap wine and a sandwich.
Once the PB&Js are gone, Cherry pops some popcorn in the microwave. She leads the way to the living room, and we sit next to each other on the couch, wine and popcorn easily within reach. Cherry has just finished telling me about her first couple of days at her new job, but my mind is elsewhere.
More precisely, I can’t stop staring at her.
Cherry has perfectly understated, natural beauty. She has only a light amount of makeup around her eyes—just enough to bring them out without looking garish. Her red hair is in perfect contrast with her pale skin, and I love the way it drapes over her shoulders and back when she turns her head. Bright green eyes complete the look, and I can’t stop staring into them every time she turns my way. When she brings her wine glass to her full lips, a shiver runs down my spine. I’d never wanted to be a wine glass so much in my life.
“…in other words, thank you again for recommending me for the job. It really is perfect for me.”
“What? Oh, yes. Of course.” I stop staring at her neck long enough to look up at her eyes, and they hold me captive yet again. “I’m glad it’s working out for you. How are you adjusting to life in Cascade Falls in general?”
“I’m not sure I’ve really thought about it much,” she replies.
“Too soon to tell?”
“I suppose so. Have you always lived here?”
“Pretty much. I spent a lot of time traveling overseas on business trips, but I’ve never lived anywhere else. My family has been here for generations.”
“It must be nice to have your family around,” Cherry says softly. She gazes down at her wine glass, lips pressed together.
I watch her carefully for a moment, seeing the opportunity for what it is.
“You miss your aunt.”
“Yes,” Cherry says quietly. “At least it’s a bit easier being in a different place. Back home, I couldn’t go anywhere without seeing the antique shop and the ‘CLOSED’ sign on the door. I have no idea what I’m going to d
o with the place.”
“Do you think you’ll sell it?”
If I can convince her to put her property up for sale in Accident to buy a place here, she’d be that much more committed to staying put. She wouldn’t actually need to buy a place in town, of course. If all goes according to plan, she’ll just move in with me. It would change her mindset, though, and that’s what I need.
“I’m not sure.” Cherry sighs. “I suppose I should, but there are a lot of memories there.”
“Reid—the guy who owns this building—is a whiz at flipping properties. I’m sure he could offer you some assistance.”
“How do you know him?”
“A cousin.”
“Of course he is,” she mutters under her breath.
The corners of her eyes tighten, and I’m not sure why. Maybe I shouldn’t bring up selling her properties just yet. If I broach a sensitive topic too soon, I could push her away.
“Tell me about your family,” she says abruptly.
“Well, it’s hard to know where to start,” I say, realizing her expression might have had more to do with the mention of a cousin, not real estate. “I’m the youngest of my immediate family. I have a sister who is a year older than me, but she doesn’t act like it, so I’ve always been the one to take care of her. I had an older brother, Micha. He…he passed away last year.”
“I’m so sorry.” She sounds sincere. “Were you close?”
“Very.” I grab my glass of wine and swirl the liquid around before taking a drink. “I didn’t think about it that much before because I always felt like I was trying to live up to his standards, and my father did a lot to push that rivalry, but Micha was always there for me, always looking out for me.”
“You must miss him a lot.”
“I do,” I say quietly. “I’ve been shoved into this position of de facto head of the family, and I never thought I’d be here. It was always supposed to be Micha making the decisions.”
“That sounds like a lot of pressure.”
“It is, but I have a lot of help.”
“Other family members?”
“Quite a few of them, really. We have several businesses, and it takes everyone to keep them all running smoothly. Do you remember the guy in the bar who spilled beer on your douchebag date?”