Page 30 of Puck King
My phone buzzed with a text notification. It was from Colton, but there was no message – just a time and an address.
“And?” Hollie’s eyes sparkled. She was more excited about this non-date than I was.
I slid the phone so she could see the screen. “See. It’s just a business meeting.” There were no pleasantries or even general niceties in the message. “It looks like I’m taking the subway.”
Hollie looked at my feet. “I guess we’d better rethink those shoes then.”
“Thank God.” I kicked off the heels and Hollie returned with some warm boots.
For a Cinderella story, the footwear was all wrong.
With the addresspunched into my phone, I got off the train and pulled my puffy coat a little tighter around my neck. The temperature had dropped and I was thankful for the knee-length down coat, though I was a little resentful when I saw a sleek black town car parked in front of the restaurant.
The diviest restaurant I’d ever seen.
If I was wearing yoga pants covered in dog fur, I’d still be overdressed for the place. The car out front was so out of place that I knew it had to belong to my ‘date’. For someone raised to be a gentleman, I sure felt like an afterthought. I kicked the snow off my boots, and as soon as I stepped into the restaurant I was met with the smell of French fries and something I couldn’t quite place. Whatever it was, it smelled delicious.
Colton waved from the table and stood to greet me. We both leaned in for a hug – to the same side, and then we both corrected to go in on the other side. What followed was the most awkward half side hug I’d ever experienced. “Let me help you with your coat,” he said.
I turned to shrug out of the heavy down.
“Geez. You’re ready for an arctic expedition. See any penguins on your way over?”
My face was heating up from the temperature difference between the cozy restaurant and the sub-zero temperatures outside. I glanced to the back of his chair. A sporty workout jacket – one that he wore to and from the rink, hung on the hook at the end of the booth. “My stretch limousine was in for an oil change.” I slipped into the booth, noting that he had chosen the most visible seat in the entire place. Anyone walking by on the street would’ve been able to get a decent view of us above the checkered café-style curtains.
“Right.” Colton cleared his throat and handed me a menu. The edge of the laminated paper was peeling off and the printing was faded. The rest of the restaurant wasn’t doing much better. The vinyl bench seat was cracked and the table was faded. Our waiter, an old man with a white moustache that could rival Sam Elliott’s, approached the table and poured us two glasses of water.
“What can I get you to drink, Alison?”
I blinked at the sound of my name and tilted my head at the waiter. I had definitely never seen him before. “Have you got a lager on tap?”
“Sure do.” His voice was gravelly. He left without taking Colton’s order.
“How did he know my name?” I asked.
“I told him,” Colton said, matter-of-factly.
“You told our waiter my name? What, are you on a first name basis with him?”
As if on cue, the old man returned to our table with a pitcher of beer and two frosty mugs. “Thanks Donnie.” Colton smiled and took the mugs from the waiter.
“No problem, Colton.” The man’s voice was again gravelly. “Are you ordering for Miss Alison today?”
Colton took the menu from my hand. “Do you mind if I pick out the best things on the menu for you?”
When he presented it that way, it didn’t seem quite so sexist. I had quickly scanned the menu and it appeared to solely consist of variations of Philly cheesesteaks. He really couldn’t go wrong.
While we waited for our sandwiches, our conversation stalled. We had covered the weather – cold, and the team’s latest games – abysmal. I drummed my fingertips on the thighs of my jeans. “Why this place?” I had to ask.
Colton took a sip of his beer. “Why not? We were instructed to go somewhere casual. I couldn’t exactly give you the address for the Russian Tea Room.”
Despite the dated décor, the restaurant was bustling, so that was at least a good sign. But there was a thought gnawing at me. “Did you choose this restaurant because you don’t want to be seen with me?”
He raised his eyebrows and set down his beer glass. “The whole point of this is to be seen, Alison.”
“Yeah. By the paparazzi.” I gestured to the frosted window where a hired photographer was positioned across the street, ready for his ‘spontaneous’ shot.
He sighed. “I can see why you might think that, Alison. But no, I brought you here because I thought you would love the food. I come here all the time, and I’ve known Donnie for years, but in the past my dates haven’t really appreciated the…ambiance.”
