“Chris, stop. Seriously. This isn’t a game.”
“If it is a game, we’re winning the shit out of it. Look at this douche.” He pointed to a yellow Hummer on their right, where the driver was furiously trying to open his car door to no avail.
“Okay,” Jessica conceded, “yeah, that guy’s definitely a douche.”
Chris leaned out his window. “Guess you’ll have to find some other way to compensate! Haha!”
“You’re enjoying this too much. Plus, you should just be grateful you don’t have to compensate.”
Chris straightened in his seat. “I am. And if I’m not mistaken, so are you.”
“Oh shut it,” she said, trying not to grin. She glanced in her rearview mirror, watching as the cars in their wake slid back into place. “Keep it in your pants for just a little longer, Chris. We can celebrate afterward.”
The cleared path veered from the middle lane to an off-ramp. “I guess this is our exit,” she said, putting on her blinker to avoid being a complete asshole.
She inhaled deeply, trying to steady herself. She’d finally discovered a miracle that was exceptionally useful, and now she could make it to the meeting before everyone left. Things were actually looking up. She was so close to opening her bakery, she could practically taste the gluten-free goodness …
Jessica returned from the ladies room of Pho Show to the intimate table where Chris sat, staring slightly cross-eyed at the menu, making cross-eyed look sexy and intentional. Last week she’d overheard a customer at Bat-Ass Brew use the phrase “modern Asian fusion” in reference to the way his home was decorated, and as soon as Jessica had set foot in this high-priced Vietnamese restaurant, her mind had traveled back to that phrase. Modern Asian fusion. If she had to guess at what that meant, it would be something like Pho Show—shiny white tables with cherry blossoms painted over the tops, metal artwork along the wall implying bamboo shoots but not outright resembling bamboo shoots, red paper lanterns hanging in clusters from the ceiling, and an entirely Hispanic cooking staff working at breakneck speeds on large cast-iron griddles and broth vats in the center of the dining room.
“I ordered us some wine,” Chris said as she sat. “I hope you like red.” He wiggled his eyebrows seductively.
She sipped from the ice water already at the table. “You know me so well.”
Their server, a man not much older than Jessica and with short facial hair that allowed for hygiene while maintaining an air of ruggedness, approached with the wine but paused after pouring a glass for Chris. He stared down Jessica’s empty glass with a deep crease between his brows, the corners of his mouth turned down. “I, uh …”
“I’d like some too,” Jessica said, wondering what in her father’s name was happening.
The server turned toward her and cringed apologetically. “I don’t feel comfortable serving you, Ms. McCloud.”
Okay, so he knew who she was. She’s almost gotten used to Austinites being either too self-absorbed to notice or too aloof to care, assuming they even could recognize her when she donned her genius disguise of sunglasses and a baseball cap. But she hadn’t thought those accessories would go well with her satin razorback shirt and slacks, so she’d left them in her bag in Chris’s truck when she did a quick wardrobe change after the loan meeting and before celebratory date night.
Before she could ask any questions, Chris took over. “That sounds like a you problem. We’re paying customers. Serve the girl some wine.”
“I just … see, I’m Catholic, and she’s—”
Chris’s exaggerated shrug and slight neck roll could have easily been mistaken for a pre-fight stretch. “Perfect. Y’all love wine. Let her at it.”
“But she’s …”
“Over twenty-one? Yes.”
The waiter was clearly conflicted, grimacing and white-knuckling the wine bottle. But Jessica was still too confused to offer him any calming words. Besides, she wasn’t sure if she liked him or not. She was leaning toward not.
The waiter took a half step back from the table. “I don’t actually know where we stand on her.”
Chris’s eyes crossed slightly, but he puffed up his chest confidently anyway. “What do you mean? You can’t serve her because you don’t know …” He shook his head to clear it. “What is there to stand … about?”
“I mean the Vatican hasn’t actually addressed the issue of … her.” He nodded at Jessica but kept his focus determinedly on Chris. “What she claims.”
Jessica waved her hand between the men. “I’m right here. And you can call me Jessica, since you clearly know who I am.”
Chris motioned with an open palm for her to play it cool. “So when will you know about the Vatican?”
The waiter scrunched up his tiny nose and sucked in air. “It’s anybody’s guess. A few hundred years?”
“Listen,” Jessica said, “you already brought over water while I was in the bathroom. I can just turn this into wine,”—she held up her hand to keep Chris from asking her if she really could do it—“or you can up-sell me to the insanely expensive bottle you’re holding and make a little bit better tip. Either way, it’s not in your hands”—she squinted at his name tag—“Rogue.” Oh for shit’s sake. “And you’ll be long dead and can therefore hardly be held responsible for your transgression by the time the Pope establishes that it is one.”
Rogue stared thoughtfully at her glass of water, but eventually nodded and poured her the wine.
Once he was gone, Chris erupted. “Wait, can you really turn water into wine?”
“You know I can’t.” She lifted her glass for a toast. “To a successful loan meeting.”
Chris leaned forward across the small table for two in Pho Show, the tiny candlelight glowing on his face. “What if he goes and tells everyone you can do it?”
She rolled her eyes keeping her glass suspended in the air. “As far as rumors about me go, that’s a fairly benign one to worry about.”
Shrugging agreement, Chris clinked glasses with her. “This feels so grown up.”
“Right?”
“You killed it in that meeting, Jess. Watching you present that business plan, seeing you answer all those questions that dipshit banker dude kept asking you—I could hardly keep it together, especially after that miracle you pulled on I-35 today. All I could think about was what I want to do to you after we fall asleep tonight.”
Jessica bit back a grin and raised her glass. “Then we should definitely get started on the sedation process.”
As she took her first sip of the Malbec, Chris decided to ruin her night with, “Should we be talking about marriage?”
Jessica continued sipping her wine to buy herself time to think. But after putting away half the glass before the appetizer had even arrived, she figured she should slow down. “Um. Should we?”
He stared down at his napkin still folded like a fan on the table. “I mean, you know what we can do if we get married.”
“Yeah, the same thing we already do every night, except with a blander setting and fewer superheroes.” She paused. “Actually, I could do with fewer superheroes.”
Chris’s attention darted up to her, and he whined, “But I thought they were growing on you!”
“I— Fewer, not … none.”
The small concession calmed him, and he chuckled. “Yeah, you’re right, though. We really don’t need to talk about it yet. We’re only twenty-one, and I’m not even out of college.”
“I mean, is it something you think about?” she asked quickly.
He didn’t meet her eye, staring vaguely at something over her right shoulder instead. “Yeah, I mean, I definitely want to marry you eventually.”
Definitely? He was sure about that? Granted, they started dating back in high school, but there was that long break up, and they’d only been back together nine months. Was that enough time to be sure about marriage? And if so, why wasn’t she sure about it too? Did that mean she was sure she didn’t want marriage?
Chris mistook the meaning of her silence and amended his previous declaration with, “And not just so we can have boring sex, but because, well, you know.”
“Yeah,” she lied, having only a vague idea what he meant.
They each sipped their wine in silence. Part of the reasoning behind trying this restaurant over the pho place down the street was that it advertised as one of the few places in Austin without live music during the current music festival. It had seemed ideal for intimate conversation, maybe some verbal foreplay, a touch of provocative bragging …
But now Jessica found herself wishing they’d picked somewhere noisier. Discussion of marriage was much less likely when a brood of thirty- and forty-somethings stood on a stage ten feet away with two amps too many covering everyone’s least favorite fan favorites. Maybe that was why everyone in this town was single. Serious subjects were never broached for purely auditory reasons.
“Here’s a question,” Chris said. His jaw twitched nervously before he continued. “Do you think we’ll still get to have dream sex once we can have plain real-life sex?” His wide eyes reflected the tea light’s flickering flame.
“I don’t know. I mean, we can definitely try.”
“Good.” He nodded seriously. “Good.”
“I thought we weren’t going to worry about that yet.”
“Right, right,” he said casually, leaning back in his chair. “I mean, we’re going to be together forever anyway, so what’s the hurry?”
She forced a giggle and flinched when it sounded more like a gag. “Exactly. That’s the plan.”
Rogue brought out a basket of sweet buns, and Jessica grabbed his arm, feeling slightly less inhibited by the glass of wine she’d essentially chugged. And perhaps part of her desperately needed a diversion. “Do these have gluten in them?”
“Um, yes? Sorry. I didn’t know you had an allergy to—” He narrowed his eyes at the buns like they were a puzzle he was starting to figure out.
“My brother’s body? No. I don’t. Watch this, though.” She held her hand over the buns, closed her eyes, and worked her miracle. When she moved her hands, she was pleased to see the three small portraits of her were each flattering in their own way. “Voila!” she said. “Now they’re gluten-free.”
Rogue stumbled back from the table and scurried off.
Jessica chuckled and watched him go, but when she glanced at Chris to soak up his amusement, she was met with dark concern. “Why did you do that?” he asked.
“What? I was just having a little fun. Don’t I get to have a little fun?”
“I guess so.” Chris watched Rogue until he disappeared into the back of house.
“Plus, I might have just converted him.”
Chris cocking his head to the side, sizing her up. “Okay. To what? You have a religion now?”
She opened her mouth to reply with something witty, but came up short. “Oh. Right. I guess I don’t.”
“If anything, you just converted him to White Light Church.”
“Shitballs. You’re right.”
“Don’t get used to it.” He grabbed one of the buns from the basket, turned it to get a good look at Jessica, and then cringed as he pulled the bun apart to butter the halves. “You know, until you start your own religion, it might be in your best interest to leave the Catholics Catholic and the Mormons Mormon and the Baptists Baptist and so on. At least that way they don’t follow Jimmy Dickhead.”
“Again, you’re right.” She grabbed a bun and shoved the whole thing into her mouth to avoid catching a glimpse of herself.
“Hey, cheer up.” He leaned forward. “I got great news.” Chris practically vibrated in his seat, making Jessica wonder if this news was the actual reason for the expensive dinner, rather than her business meeting.
“And what’s that?”
“Coach Brown says my name has been thrown around in early talk about the Heisman.”
“The Heisman?”
“Trophy. Damn, Jess. You’re still totally clueless about football?” He sighed. “I guess that’s what happens when it comes naturally. The Heisman Trophy. It’s a big deal in college football.”
“That’s great, Chris!”
“Yeah, it is. But it’s still early. Mostly it’s just commentators and coaches who are bringing it up over beers or whatever. Even if I don’t win—”
“Let’s not jump there yet. Let’s just pretend you’re a shoo-in.” She flagged down another server, and when the woman approached, Jess ordered another round of wine.
There was no hesitation on the new server’s part—either she didn’t know who Jessica was, or she didn’t care. Either worked.
They celebrated in good form, slurping their pho and gossiping and switching to cocktails for the next round, and when Chris reached for the bill, Jessica stopped him. “No, I got this.” She held up her credit card. “What’s a little more debt when I’m about to get a two-hundred-and-fifty-thousand-dollar loan?”
Chris giggled, his eyes bloodshot, and Jessica giggled along with him before slipping the card into the check holder.
Apparently Rogue had officially passed the baton to the female server, Sage, who returned shortly with the receipt. It wasn’t until Jess went to sign and leave a tip that she realized how much she’d spent. Regardless, though, Wendy had been clear that she was never to tip less than twenty-five percent, so Jessica gritted her teeth, did the math, and signed the damn receipt feeling sobered.
As they stood then weaved through the restaurant, discussing the logistics of taking a ride-share back to Jessica’s condo and getting Chris’s truck the next day, a familiar face hooked Jessica’s attention. She couldn’t place it immediately, but then it clicked.
He was sitting at the bar, a martini held loosely in his hands as he stared forward blankly, sipping his drink disinterestedly.
Chris continued pleading his case that he was good to drive, but Jessica had stopped listening. “Is that Mr. Foster?”
“Huh?” Chris turned sharply, tripping slightly over his feet and officially ruining any further arguments of his driving.
Jessica led the way through the crowded restaurant toward the bar, and only after the “mister” was already out of her mouth did she wonder if she should call her former teacher by his first name instead.
“Mr. Brian Foster,” she said, which was the worst of both options.
Mr. Brian Foster? What am I, an FBI agent?
He perked up and turned slowly, and when his eyes landed on her, he reared back. “Jessica! Chris! What a pleasant surprise.” They approached and Chris shook Mr. Foster’s hand. “Wow …” said their former college counselor, “you two are actually still together.”
“Yep!” Chris said proudly. “She couldn’t escape me if she tried.”
Mr. Foster glanced concernedly at Jessica, who mouthed, I’m fine. Mr. Foster nodded subtly. “You two on your way out?”
“Yeah,” Jessica said, “but we’re not in a hurry.”
“I dunno,” Chris said, “I’m getting a little sleepy.” He stared at her meaningfully, and while she understood the message, it could wait.
“You’ll be fine.” She turned to Mr. Foster. “Mind if we join you, Mister—or …”
“Brian, please. You’re adults now, judging by your level of intoxication in a law-abiding private establishment like this. But hey, why don’t we head somewhere a little cheaper? First round on me.”
“Done!” Chris shouted into Jessica’s ear.
Brian tossed cash onto the bar then lead the way out of Pho Show and down the sidewalk, and it wasn’t far before he turned into a less-than-reputable establishment called the Grease Trough and ordered a round of Lone Stars for the table.
“How’s life?” he asked, addressing Jessica.
“Pretty good,” she said distractedly, looking at some of the shadier characters who were eyeing her with what might have been suspicion but could have also been lust. She never was great at discerning the two.
&nbs
p; Brian followed her gaze. “Don’t worry, they look like rough types, but Austin is a safe city. They see me in here all the time, and despite the fact that I’m clearly the kind of kid they beat up in their school days, they all leave me alone.”
“If you say so.”
“How’s Texas State?” he asked. “You’re both in your senior year, right?”
Chris nodded enthusiastically, and Jessica felt a pit form in her stomach. Mr. Foster had worked so hard with her on finding a college. And now she had to break the news to him that she dropped out? How would he take it?
Chris jumped in with an update before she could decide what to say. “I’m starting quarterback, and Jessica dropped out.”
Her mouth fell open, and she risked a glance at Mr. Foster, who nodded pensively before turning his attention to her. “And why’s that?”
“I’m starting a bakery.”
Mr. Foster squeezed his eyes shut and pinched the bridge of his nose. Then he inhaled deeply and said, “That’s unexpected.”
“Yeah, well, I found a miracle where I can make things gluten-free, so it just seemed like the logical next step.”
Mr. Foster chuckled, then he guffawed. “Of course! How logical. And you came to Austin to do it.”
She nodded tentatively, struggling to gauge his reaction.
“No, that’s actually perfect. I have to say, Jessica, trying to advise you on college was the ultimate exercise in futility. It would have been invigorating were it not so exhausting.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, and maybe I’m just saying this because I’ve been mixing liquors since noon, but I’ve never encountered a student who was on such an obvious path. Now, that doesn’t mean I knew what path you were on, and I’m guessing you didn’t know either, but it was pretty clear nothing I could say would alter the course of your future. In that way, our meetings were a little bit freeing.”
“I don’t know about that. I think—”
“I do. I know about it. I could sense it, and for those of you playing along at home, I pride myself on doing a stand-up job of dulling my senses. Which only makes it more remarkable when I have any intuition whatsoever.”
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