Page 13 of Confessions of the Funny Fat Friend

“My dad's the same way,” she replied. I noticed the way her eyes crinkled around the corners when she talked about her family. “Mom's been trying to sneak spinach into his meals for years.”

“Does it work?” I asked.

She laughed. “About as well as an engine without gas.”

A server led the group ahead of us toward the dining area, and the hostess gave me a warm smile from behind her podium covered in ivy. “Are you waiting on someone?” she asked.

Confused, I glanced toward Henrietta, confirming she was standing beside me. Her eyes were focused on the floor, so I answered, “It’s us two.”

The hostess let out a surprised, “Oh,” but quickly wiped the look from her face. “Follow me.” She reached for a pair of menus and silverware rolled in a black napkin.

When we were alone at the table, I asked Hen, “What was that about?”

She kept her eyes on her menu. “She didn't believe that someone like you would be here with someone like me.”

I nearly choked on my spit. “What? That’s crazy.”

Henrietta gave me a look with a tinge of annoyance. “Guys like you don't exactly go out with girls like me. Especially not to a fancy place like this.”

I studied her for a moment in utter disbelief, wondering what Henrietta had seen. What would make her think that a guy like me wouldn't be interested in her? I knew plenty of guys who liked their girls with curves—myself included.

Any guy, or woman for that matter, should be able to see that Henrietta was a catch. She smelled amazing, had a sexy swell of breasts under her blouse that gave just a peek at her cleavage. And the curve of her hips underneath her pencil skirt was practically kryptonite. Most of all, I liked her smile. It transformed her whole face, lighting it up completely.

“Maybe she smoked some dope before her shift,” I said. That was the only explanation.

Henrietta burst out laughing, and the sound was music to my ears. “Dope?” she said with another laugh. “No one calls it that anymore.”

“I do.” I lifted my menu, glad to see her smile, and said, “What's good here?”

“Everything,” she replied honestly. “And be sure to save enough room for the tiramisu aftersupper. It is to die for.”

“Good looking out.” I flicked my gaze to the drink menu, seeing a decent selection. “Do you want to share a bottle of wine?”

She raised her eyebrows at me. “Wine? What if your dad finds out?”

I shot her a smile. “I usually prefer reds, but we can get whatever you'd like. Perhaps champagne to celebrate our first official day working together?”

She smiled. “I'm fine with either one. I don't really drink much at all unless I'm out at the bar with my friends. One of my friends married the owner so we get free drinks.”

“Well, that's the best kind of friend to have,” I said.

Henrietta nodded. “That and my dad has a refrigerator full of beer in our garage for after we're finished with projects. But if I had my choice, it would be Cupcake wine.”

“Cupcake wine it is,” I agreed, just in time for the waiter to come by and get our orders. As he walked away, his notepad full of our choices, I asked, “What kind of projects?”

“Anything, really,” she said. “One year we restored an old car. Another year, we built an entire raised garden bed for my mom so she didn’t have to stoop so low anymore. And the year after that, we were restoring some of Grandpa's old furniture. You never know what kind of wild-hare idea Dad’s going to get. Anything to do with his hands, he’ll learn how to do it and be amazing at it.”

This woman in front of me was so intriguing. The thought of her restoring a car when I’d only ever seen her in dresses made me want to know even more. “What's been your favorite project?” I asked.

“I think the furniture,” she said. “For a while, I would pick up furniture along the road and restore it and then sell it online to make some extra cash. When I was in college it was kind of a nice side hustle.”

“You don't do it anymore?” I asked.

She looked thoughtful, like she’d almost forgotten she worked with furniture. “No, I think I just got busy with work and family and let it go. But I should start looking for projects again.”

I nodded. “Then what about the garden? What does your mom like to grow?”

“Alotof tomatoes.” Hen chuckled. “She's always giving away tomato sauce because she says it goes great with just about everything. But my personal favorite is her bed of tulips. She keeps them each year in every color and makes the prettiest little bouquets for our table.”

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