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Everly
“Can I get you something to drink?” Although only seven o’clock, Molly, our server, already looked haggard, with strands of curly red hair escaping her bun. Given her expression, perhaps I should have asked her the same question.
“I’ll have water, please.” After waking up with a headache from last night’s impromptu dance party, I’d resolved to drink only water tonight.
“I’ll have water too,” Fred said with a smile.
Molly tapped something into her device. “Wonderful, and would you like more time to study the menu?”
“No, thanks,” I said. “I think I’m ready. I’ll have the salmon, please.”
“And I’ll have what she’s having.” Fred gave me another of his dopey smiles.
Molly typed in our orders before returning with our water and a basket of bread.
I gazed at the pale, lanky man sitting opposite. He wore his brown hair neatly parted and combed to the side. A pale smattering of freckles dusted the top of his nose, and his tan button-down shirt looked crisp, like he’d just ironed it. While not particularly handsome, Fred wasn’t ugly either. Overall, he had a very average, neat appearance.
“So, do you enjoy dancing?” I suspected the answer was no, but Luna’s was well-known for its lively music. They had a band playing tonight, and a few couples already graced the dance floor.
Fred pulled a face. “Goodness, no! I’ve got two left feet. But I’ve heard great things about the food here, so I thought I’d give it a try.”
I eyed the couples swaying to the music, disappointed that we wouldn’t be joining them tonight. Okay, so Fred wasn’t into dancing, but at least he was honest, which I found refreshing.
“You look beautiful,” Fred said.
I smiled at his compliment. “Thank you. My roommate helped me pick the dress. And I like your outfit too. It’s very…” I struggled to find the best word to describe the tan button-down shirt and matching khakis he wore tonight. “Monochrome.”
“Thank you. I own five identical shirts and pants. I’m more efficient with my time when I don’t have to think about what to wear every morning.”
He had a closet full of… beige clothes? My eyebrows raised so high, they probably brushed against my hairline. What would he make of my colorful wardrobe, or better yet, my brightly painted house?
Fred nibbled on a piece of bread. “This is yummy.”
We fell into an awkward silence and then I cleared my throat. “Joy tells me that you enjoy houseplants.”
That must have been the right thing to say because Fred’s entire face lit up. He leaned forward, placing his slender hands on the table. “I am a houseplant enthusiast. It’s a hobby I’ve enjoyed ever since the age of twelve.” As he spoke about his collection, the corners of his eyes crinkled, and his hands moved like a conductor leading an orchestra. While Fred wasn’t as handsome or muscular as some, he seemed earnest, the type of guy who dreamed of owning a beige four-bedroom house in the suburbs, complete with a wife, minivan, and two-point-five children.
“Everly?” Fred stared expectantly at me.
Oops. Must be my turn to talk. “I’ve only recently started taking care of plants. So far, I have a snake plant and a few philodendrons.”
“Those are excellent beginner plants.” He smiled again, and I waited to see if I felt anything toward him.
Zilch.
I glanced down at my phone. Yikes. It had been only twenty minutes. “What are your favorite plants?” I asked, struggling to keep the conversation going.
Fred tapped his jaw and stared at the ceiling, muttering to himself before responding, “I enjoy the challenge of caring for begonias and anthuriums. But it’s impossible to name a favorite plant when I own three hundred and thirty-five.”
I almost choked on my water. He had over three hundred plants? Joy mentioned he was a plant enthusiast, but this went beyond a simple hobby. Fred was a wannabe jungle-dweller.
Hmm. Maybe that explained the khaki?
“Mother and I enjoy seeking out rare species.” Fred picked up his napkin off the table and tied it around his neck like a bib. “We’ve even built a greenhouse in our spare bedroom for tropical plants.”
Hold on one philodendron pickin’ minute. An alarm bell clanged in my mind. Overlooking the fact that a grown man sat across from me, wearing what was essentially a bib, I circled back to the more pressing matter at hand. “Do you live with your mother?”
“Of course.” Fred’s expression turned serious. “Fiscally, it’s the most prudent thing to do. Housing prices are absurd at present. Why waste money on rent when I have a perfectly good bedroom at home? Mother knows all my favorite foods, does my laundry, and at the rate that I’m saving, I should be in a position to purchase a home in a few years.”
