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“California roll!” he cries.
“And edamame… and miso… and…” My eyes flicker across the street to the steak restaurant Rioz. “Mother of pearl!”
“What’s that?” Ollie’s nose curls. “Mother of pearl roll…”
Courtney frowns, squinting at the windshield. “What is it?”
The restaurant has a small, outdoor seating area, and big as day, sitting at a table is Spencer, right across from a woman with flowing dark brown hair. Her back is to me, but her legs are crossed. She’s in a short dress, and it shows off her shapely calves.
“That flipping…”
I don’t swear in front of Ollie, and Courtney cranes her neck, searching everywhere to see where I’m looking.
A pimply teenage guy taps on her window, and I snatch up my phone. Having a nice Friday? My eyes are glued to him, waiting to see if he’ll pick up his phone, if he’ll respond or ignore me…
I watch his eyes slide down. He nods to his date, smiling as he picks up his phone, then does a little wave and taps on the device.
Fury is blazing in my throat, and I’m already working on my reply. It’s a beautiful night. Relaxing at my favorite place. You?
I hope you step on a Lego. I hit send.
It doesn’t take long for him to reply. Excuse me?
My fingers are flying. I hope the worst day of your past is the best day of your future.
I can barely read his reply for the anger burning in my eyes. Is that a curse?
I hope everyone you shake hands with has moist hands.
Courtney cuts me a look as she pulls the minivan onto the street. “Are you okay? What’s going on?”
I am not okay. I am not okay at all.
My fingers are flying. I hope you get an eyelash in your eye and you can never get it out. I hope every time you use hand sanitizer you have a paper cut. I hope every time the waiter walks by, it’s with someone else’s food.
Where are you?
I throw my phone in my bag, and it’s the stupidest thing ever, but I start to cry.
Chapter 20
Spencer
Where are you? I hit send on the quick text then stand, looking all around the outdoor dining area.
“What’s happening?” The woman across from me grips the table.
At that second, I spot the ancient, frosted baby blue minivan pulling away from the sushi restaurant across the street. It’s moving fast in a northerly direction, and I have no idea where she’s going.
“I’m sorry, but I’ve got to go.” Digging in my pants, I pull out my wallet and drop more than enough cash on the table before stepping over the wrought-iron fence surrounding the outdoor seating area at Rioz, my favorite steakhouse.
She’s costing me yet another prime rib.
“Excuse me, sir! You can’t do that.” I hear the waiter calling from behind me, but I don’t stop.
Looking left to right, I jaywalk as fast as possible across the street. An oncoming car honks loudly, and I flip the bird before dashing up to the takeout area of Sakitumi.
Catching the pimple-faced curbside waiter by the shoulder, I pull him to me. “I need to see the receipt for that last order—the blue minivan? I believe it’s that one in your hand.”
