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When my parents are down the first flight of stairs, Mr. DePaul turns to me and says, “I’ve been fasting all day, waiting to eat with you. What are you in the mood for?”
Deciding to just avoid the nuisance in hopes it would go away, I turn away from him to go back inside, but as soon as I turn the doorknob, he gently grabs my right forearm. I snatch my arm away from him, frowning.
“What are you doing?”
“I want to take you to lunch,” he says evenly and with enough conviction that he has no doubt about what his plans are, whether they’re my plans or not. He’s taking me to lunch with or without my permission.
I stare up into his eyes for a moment, seemingly spellbound as I once again see something hidden in their depths. A feeling of nostalgia falls over me and has me remembering things that happened in my past. I’m talking about things from high school and college. This is weird. I don’t know what’s happening right now.
When I snatch my eyes away from his, I say, “Fine. Let’s go to lunch so I can get a few things straight with you, sir.”
“Lead the way.”
“Oh, I have to drive again, too?” I ask, jogging down the stairs.
“No. You can ride with me.”
When we get to the bottom of the stairs, I step aside, then I follow him to a black Mercedes with windows tinted so dark, you can’t see who’s inside. He opens the door. I get inside, sitting on a red leather seat, instantly feeling trapped.
He gets inside, starts the car and looks at me.
“What are you in the mood for?”
“Doesn’t matter,” I tell him, and it doesn’t. I’m just ready to get it over with.
“All right. Don’t complain about what I choose.”
Ignoring him, I take my phone and text Ella.
Quintessa: hey, El, sorry I had to leave. I’m with Mr. DePaul
Ella: what’s going on?
Quintessa: I’ll explain everything later.
Ella: You ditched me?
Quintessa: I didn’t ditch you. I’ll explain. Can you put the groceries away for me?
Ella: already done.
Quintessa: thanks, girl. I owe you big time. Just lock up before you leave.
Ella: okay
I put my phone away, and he’s already pulling up to a restaurant – Bayou on the Marina. I get out before he has a chance to open the door for me and we head inside. Per his request, we’re seated by windows that offer an amazing view of the marina. I stare out at the boats and turquoise-blue water.
He says, “You like the water?”
Urgh…stop trying to find common ground with me…
I tear my gaze away from the sun-kissed blue water and look at him. “Don’t all Floridians?”
“Not necessarily. Do you?”
“Yes.”
“Nice. I’ll have to take you out on my yacht one day.”
