by Ellie Hall
“What do you mean by that?”
“Nothing much.”
I plant my hands on my hips. His tone sure tells me there’s a lot more on his mind. “I’d like to know what you thought of me.”
Shrugging, Graham walks toward me. He waves the putty knife in the air as he thinks. “From what I recall, you were always helping out around the house. Taking care of your siblings—dressing and feeding them and keeping them in line. You hated diaper changes, that part I remember clearly. It was cute, the way your nose scrunched up at the smells and how you wore gloves and an apron to keep yourself clean. You were quite a prissy miss.”
My body heats up, partly from indignation and partly because Graham’s only two feet away now. More of the former though because his comment has me riled up a little. Okay, not just a little, a lot.
Prissy Miss was my nickname all throughout my childhood. My dad had nicknames for all of us kids. It was easier for him to remember them instead of the laundry list of names that all started with a J. And while they were meant to be affectionate, mine made me feel high maintenance. Which I totally am not … half of the time.
My emotions must show on my face because Graham clears his throat uncomfortably. “I don’t mean it in a negative way. I rather like how God made you. You have high standards and expectations. There’s absolutely nothing wrong with that. That’s how I like to run my business.”
I blink fast. Either he’s a sweet talker or the most gracious and understanding man I’ve ever met. Certainly more supportive than my ex ever was. “You keep talking like that, and I might want to buy you lunch.”
“Yeah?” The corners of his eyes crinkle. “I’d like to take you up on that offer. How about today? Unless you’re busy.”
I swallow hard. I’d been joking, but there’s no way I’d turn Graham down. Especially when he’s getting his hands dirty for me. (Not literally, thank goodness, since he’s wearing gloves.) “I have time. I just have some social media posts to schedule for the grand opening, but I can get most of that done by noon.”
“Great. But I insist on treating.”
“What? No, I insist. It was my idea. I’m taking you to lunch.”
Graham scoffs. “What kind of gentleman would I be if I let a lady pay? I insist.”
His genuine smile softens my resolve. “All right, if you must. Just this time though. Next time it’ll be my turn.”
“Next time, huh?”
“I, uh, mean if there is a next time.”
“Planning ahead, I like that.” He grins widely. “I know just the place to take you today, Josie. It’s a hole in the wall, but the food is spectacular.”
“Oh, okay.” My shoulders droop a little at the thought of not being able to eat at my favorite high-end restaurant in San Jose, but I try to keep an open mind. If Graham says the food is good, it can’t be that bad of a place. “I can’t wait.”
“It’s a date then. I’ll come find you at noon.”
I nod and turn to go when his words come back to me.
Date?! I’m going on a date with Graham!
4
Graham
What was I thinking, calling this a lunch date? I blame my temporary lapse in judgment on the glucosamine I took at breakfast. Those horse pills are supposed to help promote joint flexibility, but they seem to be working on my heart, too. Stretching and loosening it beyond its normal confines and making me consider wild notions like attraction and love. Causing me to long for a relationship with Josie—as if I’d ever stand a chance. A young, desirable woman like her would never be interested in an old geezer like me, as she so eloquently called me many, many times yesterday.
But she did call me hot, so there’s that.
We just got seated at a small two-person table near the window of Asian Pearl Restaurant. It’s a favorite place of mine to frequent when I don’t feel like cooking. A hot meal that’s delicious and reasonably priced—what more could I ask for? But something tells me Josie was expecting a lot more when she walked into this joint.
A whole lot more.
“How’s the menu look to you?” I clear my throat as I wait for a response that’s more than an eyebrow lift. “If you don’t feel like Chinese food, it’s not too late to speak up. There’s a good Italian place down the street.”
“No, this is fine. Just fine.” Josie lowers her menu and gives me a tight smile. It’s a wonder she hasn’t dropped the laminated legal-size paper that she’s holding onto with one thumb and forefinger. Or more specifically, two perfectly painted pink fingernails. She yelps as a fly whizzes by her face and ducks behind the menu again. “Is it gone?”
“The fly? Yeah, it’s moved on to the back of the restaurant. You can come out now.”
Her eyes appear over the top of her menu, wide open in horror. “The back of the restaurant? You mean like the kitchen?”
“Oh, don’t worry. Lydia—she’s the owner—has one of those electric bug zappers set up. It catches all the critters back there.”
“All the critters?”
“Mainly the flying ones. The ones that crawl are a different story.”
She sets the menu down, visibly shuddering. “Please tell me you’re joking, Graham.”
“Of course I’m joking!” I throw my head back and give in to the laughter that I’ve been holding back. “I wouldn’t bring you anywhere unsanitary. I do have standards, you know.”
“I’m sure you do.” She gives me an uneasy smile. “Why don’t you order for us since you’ve been here before. Preferably nothing too oily or fried.”
“Nothing oily or fried. Well, that leaves us with soup … and more soup. How about wonton noodle soup and beef stew? We can share, family style.”
“That sounds fine.”
I place our order with the server who takes our menus away and leaves us with a pot of tea. After I pour each of us a cup, I settle back in my chair and look around. Even though this is a casual restaurant, the tables near us are filled with customers in business attire here for a quick bite to eat. Josie fits right in, looking stunning and put together with her styled hair, professional dress, and high heels. Meanwhile, I look like the hired help—which isn’t that far off from the truth. I’m secure enough in my identity not to be bothered by this. But what does bother me is the thought that Josie is so uptight she can’t tell when I’m joking.
Or am I not as funny as I thought?
Our gazes connect as I strike up a conversation. “So, what have you been up to since we last saw each other? It’s been nearly three decades. I’m sure a lot’s happened.”
Her posture relaxes as she nods. “Let’s see. I did real estate for years and was pretty successful at it. But the long hours and having to work on the weekends got harder to handle the older I got. So when I turned forty, I decided to make a career change. I suppose you could call it a midlife crisis. One day I happened to be watching Say Yes to the Dress, and I fell in love with the idea of opening a bridal boutique. So, that’s where I’m at today.”
“Hm. Too bad you weren’t watching, say, American Chopper. It’s a show about a—”
“Motorcycle shop!” Her sparkly brown eyes resemble headlights. “I love that show! I’ve watched every season of it.”
“You have? I don’t know any woman who’s ever been into bikes.”
“I kinda have a thing for them. It’s actually because of you. When you rode up to our house that summer, it was love at first sight.”
My brows shoot up. I’d gathered that little Josie had had a crush on me back in the day, but I didn’t think she’d been in love. “I doubt if it was love. You were hardly even a teenager.”
She bristles like a porcupine under attack. “I may only have been twelve, but I was a passionate twelve-year-old. I knew what I loved and didn’t love, and I loved your Kawasaki Ninja. The lime green color was out of this world.”
“Ohh, you loved my bike!”
“What else did you think I was talking about?” Her eyes widen. “Di
d you think I was referring to you?”
I let loose an uneasy chuckle. My neck grows hot under my collar, making me wish I’d changed clothes before lunch. These coveralls are not only a nuisance for bathroom trips but also for proper air circulation during bouts of embarrassment. “I only assumed you meant me because of your marriage proposal. Not because I think I’m all that and a bag of chips.”
She bursts out laughing. “I haven’t heard that phrase since high school. I always thought it was funny, considering how unimpressive chips are.”
“What’s wrong with chips? They’re made from tubers, my favorite vegetable.”
“Potatoes are not real vegetables. Not like leek, kale, or kohlrabi.”
“Ko-who-bi?”
“Kohlrabi! Don’t tell me you’ve never had it?”
I shrug. “Never even heard of it.”
Josie looks at me like I said I didn’t know the difference between a fill valve and a flush valve—which I may or may not have had trouble telling apart when I started out in the plumbing business. (In my defense, all pipes looked alike back then.) She shakes her head with pity. “Looks like I’ll need to educate you on what proper vegetables are.”
“I’m not sure I want to learn about vegetables that can’t be made into chips.” I’m half-joking, half-serious. I feel like Josie and I are speaking different languages, and mine’s about as fancy as Pig Latin. “In my humble opinion, vegetables are best when fried in oil.”
“Well, you’ll be happy to know that kohlrabi can be made into chips. But there’s an even tastier way of preparing it with red cabbage, carrots, and brown butter. I found a recipe online that uses the sous vide technique. I’m dying to try it.”
I nod my head, even though I have no idea who Sue is or why her method’s so great. The only thing I’m dying for is our food. The longer our conversation goes on, the more I realize how much Josie’s out of my league. She’s living in the box seats at the baseball stadium while I’m in the nosebleeds. There’s no possible way I’d ever make it to first base with her.
Hold on. Why am I even thinking about kissing this woman?!
“Here we go.” A Chinese woman with short wavy hair stops at our table and sets down our order. Lydia’s white shirt has a few oil stain spots along the front and her glasses keep slipping off her nose, but she greets us with a beaming smile. She moves swiftly as she ladles the steaming soup and stew into small bowls and places them in front of us. “It’s nice to see you with a friend today, Mr. Graham.”
“Thank you, Lydia.” I gesture across the table. “This is Josie. We go way back.”
“Nice to meet you, Josie.”
“Likewise.”
“Thank you for keeping Mr. Graham company. He always eats here alone, which is a shame considering how handsome and kind he is.”
“You’re much too kind, Lydia.” I shake my head, fearing what she might say next. Lydia’s known for her attentive customer service, not for her tact. Her unofficial side business is matchmaking, which I’ve unfortunately been the victim of. “The food looks and smells great. I can’t wait to dig in.”
Lydia’s immune to my hinting. She’s too busy chatting Josie up. “Don’t you think he’s a catch? If I weren’t already married, I’d snatch him up for myself.”
Josie smiles. “I bet you would.”
“You think I’m joking; I’m not. I owe this man a debt of gratitude. He helped my son with his social anxiety last year, all for free. That’s why his meals here are always on the house.”
Surprise registers on Josie’s face. “That’s amazing.”
“Yes, he is amazing. I always tell the women I set him up with that he’s all that and a bag of chips.”
Josie and I lock eyes at the mention of tubers. It’s fun how we already share an inside joke even after only reconnecting a day ago.
“Well, I’ll let you two enjoy your meal. Let me know if you need any refills on the tea.”
As Lydia walks away, Josie raises an eyebrow. “She sure thinks highly of you.”
I’m not normally one to bask in praise, but I’m glad that Lydia was so generous with hers today. If there’s anyone I want to impress, it’s Josie. And from the incredulous look on her face, it’s safe to say that Lydia did a thorough job of talking me up. I raise my chin proudly. “Like I said, Lydia’s very kind with her words. I don’t mind her chip compliment though. As long as she’s talking about regular ones made from potatoes and not those fancy ko-who-bi ones.”
“Kohlrabi.”
“That’s what I said.”
Josie kindly smiles at my joke.
“Why don’t I say grace for us, then we can start eating?”
After we finish praying, I start digging into my wonton soup.
Josie takes a small, careful sip of hers before she resumes our conversation. “So, you did become a psychologist after all?”
“I did. Had my own practice for years, before I had my own midlife crisis and decided to change careers.”
“To do plumbing?” She wrinkles her nose in that adorable way of hers. “Not that there’s anything wrong with being a plumber. It’s just so different from what you were doing before.”
“I wanted something less stressful. A job where I could work with my hands and where everything came with directions. Pipes are a lot easier to patch up than people.”
“I can imagine. It was nice of you to see Lydia’s son pro bono.”
“It was only for a handful of sessions. He picked things up real quick. Kids are adaptable that way.”
She nods, then goes back to studying her stew. With her porcelain spoon, she stirs the broth in between those tiny sips of hers.
Meanwhile, I’m already done with one bowl and moving on to the next. “How’s the food taste?”
“Good. Surprisingly good.”
“Yeah? Glad you like it. If you’re ever in the mood to try something fried, Lydia makes the best walnut shrimp. We could try that next time.”
“Maybe.” She pauses to dot the corners of her mouth with a paper napkin. Her brows furrow as she holds my gaze. “I have to ask you, Graham, do you bring all your dates here to eat?”
I set my spoon down. “All my dates?”
“Yes. The women that Lydia sets you up with.”
“Oh, that.” I shake my head adamantly. “There are no women. She keeps trying, but I keep turning her down. So, no, I don’t bring anyone here.”
“That’s good to hear. Or else—” She waves a hand in the air. “Never mind.”
“Or else what?” Her cryptic tone puzzles me. Is she worried that I might be a player? “You’re the first woman I’ve gone out with in years, Josie. Trust me when I say I don’t date.”
“I’m glad. I was just thinking that if you brought every one of your dates here, Lydia would lose out on a lot of money since all your meals are free.”
And just like that, my ego deflates like a hot-air balloon doing a swan dive.
It’s bad enough that Josie thinks I’m ancient. Now she thinks I’m cheap, too.
5
Josie
“I can’t believe you called Graham cheap, to his face!” Piper exclaims from my cell phone early Wednesday morning. “The poor guy was trying to impress you by taking you out to lunch and you went and rained on his parade.”
Groaning, I break down a box that had housed a gadget I bought for the boutique, then toss it onto a pile of recyclables. I wish I hadn’t rehashed the details of yesterday’s lunch with Piper because her reaction has me feeling like the Grinch. But a slightly nicer version since Mr. Green-and-Hairy couldn’t care less about the environment. Or about wedding gowns and happy brides. I’m practically a saint compared to him!
Okay, fine, I don’t buy it either. But I’m not as mean as Piper makes me sound. Am I?
I fiddle with the pink blown-glass business card holder I had specially made for the shop. “I didn’t call Graham cheap. I’m not that rude.”
“You implied it, Jos
ie.”
“Yeah, you kind of did,” a male voice declares. I recognize it as belonging to Peter, Piper’s husband of three months. “Sorry, Josie, I couldn’t help listening in on the conversation when you guys started talking about Graham.”
“Good morning to you, too, Peter.”
“You don’t mind him listening in, do you?” Piper asks. “I’m driving us to work, so I have you on speakerphone.”
“No worries. I know you tell Peter everything I tell you, anyway.”
“Not everything! Only everything that has to do with Graham. That’s only because they’re good friends.”
“I know. But you better not go and share any of this with Graham, Peter.”
“Of course not,” Peter assures me. “I’d never tell him you called him cheap.”
“Hey now! I only implied it!” It’s bad enough having to defend myself to one person, now two? “But come on. You would’ve thought the same thing, Piper, if you were in my shoes. What if Peter brought you to a restaurant that had flies and the owner told you he didn’t have to pay for any of his meals?”
“I would’ve kept quiet and enjoyed the delicious food. I’m sure I would’ve been too enamored with Peter’s sexy voice and sweet smile to care.”
“Aww, thank you, sweetheart,” Peter replies.
“Newlyweds,” I huff under my breath as an exuberant kissing sound comes over the line. “I’m still here, guys.”
Piper giggles. “It would do you some good to get bit by the love bug too, Josie.”
“I don’t want to get bit by anything, thank you very much.” I shudder at the thought of any fangs—or whatever it is bugs use to attack innocent prey with—piercing my skin. “I prefer not to have any creepy-crawlies near me. That’s why I searched long and hard for bugs in my soup before I even took a sip.”
“I thought there was only one fly in the restaurant?” Peter asks.
“That I could see! Who knows how many more were in the kitchen thinking they were there for a free facial, only to meet their doom in a boiling pot of soup? Thank goodness the wonton soup was clear, so I knew for sure there were no bugs in it, but the beef stew took me forever to sift through.”