“I admire the strength you took to change who you are,” Ira said seriously.
But you don’t think my attitude is okay, she thought.Oh well. This is just one date. His doubt in her methods wasn’t going to change her. “You don’t sound like you admire me,” she suggested, not giving him any wiggle room. He had opened this serious discussion, but she’d follow it through.
He was silent for several long seconds. He shifted in his chair, picked up his menu and set it back down. “I admire the strength it must have taken to change. I’m not sure being all sunshine and roses is the way to go.”
She shrugged. “Cool.”
“You’re not offended,” he asked, shock coloring his voice.
“Not in the least. Your opinion is just that; your opinion. I like who I am. No, I love who I am. Your opinion doesn’t change me, or my value.”
“You astound me.”
Honey laughed. “Yeah, it shocks most people.” She shrugged. “I am what I am, take me or leave me. Likewise, I do my best to accept people for who they are.”
The server finally appeared to take their drink orders, distracting them from the conversation, but Honey knew Ira was still considering her words. She wouldn’t ask anyone to change who they were, but she certainly wished more people searched for the positive. She pushed the thought aside and reminded herself she was lucky to have such a diverse pool of friends with all their quirks and foibles.
“I’m ready to order food now, if you are,” Ira said.
“Sure.” Honey turned to the twenty-something female server. “I’ll have the rib-eye, medium rare, with a loaded baked potato, extra butter and sour cream, and a side of baked beans, please.”
Ira gaped at her, his mouth hanging half open.
“What? I told you I was hungry. I haven’t eaten since breakfast at six this morning. Brace yourself,” she teased, “I’ll probably have dessert too.” She turned back to the server, “Can I have an iced tea and a cup of black coffee as well?”
“Absolutely, Honey. How about you, sir?”
“Make mine the same. No extra butter or sour cream and no coffee please.”
“Iced tea?”
“Yes, please.”
“I’ll be right back with your drinks.” The young woman hurried away.
“She called you by name?” Ira queried.
“Yup. I’ve lived here for a couple years. After a while, you get to know just about everyone. Small town living is like that. It’s part of why I moved here. I can do my job from just about anywhere. I like the close ties of Coyote Creek, even if gossip moves faster than light. Life here takes some getting used to, but it’s worth it.”
“I guess waitressing is pretty portable.”
“I’m not just a waitress. I do internet research in my off hours.” Truth was the research was her primary career and waitressing was strictly for companionship and human contact. If she let herself, she could easily spend twenty hours a day on research and never talk to a live person. Not a great way to live. She was much too outgoing and sociable. She loved people and talked to anyone and everyone. Their stories intrigued her. It was her gregariousness which facilitated her success in tracking potential terrorists through chat rooms.
“Right, you mentioned something about computer work? What is it, social media posting? Searching brands?” He sounded genuinely curious and vaguely dismissive.
“Yeah, something like that.” No sense fretting over his mistaken impression. She was under a gag order which prevented her from revealing the true nature of her work. If and when they developed a serious relationship, she’d get permission to reveal the truth to him. Until then, her job was strictly need to know and Ira Castillo did not need to know. “It’s interesting work, and it helps pay the bills. Waitressing isn’t exactly highly paid work. But I love working with people.”
The sever slipped in and placed their drinks without comment.
Honey sipped her iced tea. “How about you? What did you do in the military? You mentioned Afghanistan and Egypt.”
“Just the usual soldier stuff.” He glanced away. “It isn’t something I like talking about. That part of my life is over.”
“But you miss it.”
“Why would you say that?” He seemed surprised by her insight.
“Hmm.” She tapped her lip with her index finger, pretending to think. “Let me see. The short, military-standard haircut. The abundance of fatigue style pants and army green T-shirts? The combat boots?” She grinned to let him know she was teasing. “Or maybe, it’s your hyper vigilance, and awareness of your surroundings. Your eyes are constantly watching everything around you. Given a choice, you always sit facing the door. Loud noises, like dropped dishes, startle you ten times as much as everyone else. Most people jump, laugh, and go about their business. You stay on hyper-alert for several minutes; longer than most. To use a trite and over-worn phrase, loud noises make you look shell shocked. Still, there is something about you I can’t quite put my finger on. It tells me you wish you were back in combat.”
