Page 27 of Love at First Sighting
“And you can’t ask him?”
Carter bites down on his lip. “No. We’re not…we aren’t exactlyclose.He’s not a blood relative, but my dad’s old partner. He took me in after Dad was killed, but he insists there’s nothing in the file. Clams up whenever we start talking about it.”
“He won’t let you see it?”
Carter shakes his head and rubs his jaw. “We’re going to need another way in. I haven’t figured it out yet. I’ve got an idea, but it’s still flimsy…”
The waitress returns to us in our silent pondering.
“Anything to eat?” she chimes.
“Uh, give us a few more minutes?” Carter requests, and turns to his menu. I pluck the pages of mine apart and begin to skim. Diners are the true liminal space. You can get breakfast for dinner and a Salisbury steak at any time of day, which I suspect should be illegal. Diners don’t have a distinct brand, which is admittedly a little uncomfortable for a girl who once swore by an algorithm, even if something coming from the kitchen smells excruciatingly delicious.
“Don’t get any of the seafood,” he advises.
“Damn. I really was thinking about the Captain’s Combo.” But I’m not and never shall. It’s described as a combination ofthree fish, but no indication of which ones. It’s a level of vague I can’t handle, considering no one I’ve dined with recently would even eat sustainably farmed salmon.
I study the menu carefully. I never know how to order when I go out. My “friends” will judge me if I get anything heavy. Certain boyfriends, too. Three years ago, this guy Dylan who I attempted to go out with made a face and an unflattering sound when I flipped past the salad menu on our second date. I’m not sure if I liked that more or less than the normal guys who wanted me to be “real,” encouraging me to get whatever I wanted, but then rolling their eyes if it was something on the healthier side.
All I’ve learned is, as a woman, there’s nothing you can do with your body that someone won’t criticize.
If Carter’s brought me here, I suspect he won’t judge me for what I order. He’s not giving me a whole lot of healthy gourmet options. There isn’t even an option to make the pasta gluten free.
“Are you having an existential crisis over chicken potpie?”
I meet Carter’s gaze across from me. He’s smiling, one arm propped on the back of the booth. A muscle in his cheek twitches as he waits for my answer. The tension that was in his shoulders when we arrived has left the building, and an easier, slouched demeanor has taken its place. It’s like he’s having a good time.
What shocks me is that I am, too.
“No, I…I’m overwhelmed.”
“Have you…never been to a diner before?” I don’t sense judgment. It’s sympathy.
“I have. It’s just been a while. Do I look like the kind of girl that goes to diners? Does it look like any of my friends would?”
Friends.I stumble over it again.
“Only if it were a pop-up photo op experience or something.”
“Exactly.”
He laughs and dimples pop at his cheeks. He sets the menu down with a stickythwack.
“You decided already?” I ask.
“Oh yeah, you always go for grilled cheese at this place.”
Hmm, now that he’s said it, it does sound good. Pure, unadulterated carbs and cholesterol sound incredible. I set my menu down as well. The waitress quickly returns to take our order.
“What’ll you two have?” she asks.
“Two grilled cheeses,” I announce proudly. Carter grins.
“Oh, sorry. We’re down to our last two pieces of bread for the night. Unless you want an end piece, someone’s going to have to pick something else.”
“Do you want to share?” Carter asks.
I glance at him, then at the waitress. “Yeah, that works for me.”
