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“Not exactly…” I search for a more flattering way to put it. “It was a bust. My fault, completely. My head wasn’t in the game.”
“Ah,” she nods. “I get it. For a while, I gave myself a goal of going on at least one date a week,” she confides. “I thought I should keep at it from, like, a numbers perspective. Dig long enough, and you might strike gold, right?”
“Sure,” I say, even though I don’t love thinking of Jenn meeting random men all over the city. “Did any of them stick?”
“Not one,” she says, with a rueful laugh. “But let’s face it, I wasn’t exactly setting myself up for success.
I mean, forcing myself out for a drink when I really just wanted to stay home and unwind after work.”
“With your knitting,” I add.
She smiles. “Exactly. When you’re more excited about merino wool than your date… Well, that’s no way to start something.”
I chuckle in agreement. “Bingo. Minus the wool, I mean. But I probably shouldn’t be out here dating until the spa’s up and running. I’m just too preoccupied.”
But not too preoccupied to notice the way she lights up when she smiles.
I cough and look around. “I wonder when the food will start coming.”
“What’s the deal with this chef?” she asks. “I’m glad you’re testing,” she adds, “The restaurant is like my number one priority, anywhere I go.”
“Me too.” I grin.
“All I know is that the chef’s name is Robby.”
“Robby…?”
“Just Robby. That’s all he goes by, apparently. He’s supposed to do great healthy food.”
“Oh,” she says, surprised. “I must be out of the loop. Is he recognizable-by-one-name famous? Like Nigella or Ina?”
“Asher assures me that he’s ‘very hot right now,’ I say, with a shrug.
Finally, Robby bursts out of the kitchen door in a white chef’s coat embroidered with—yep—Robby.He’s no older than I am, and he’s wearing a fisherman beanie and rolled up bandana around his neck.
“My guests,” he says, clasping his hands together. “Today, I take you on a culinary journey to the new world. Health and innovation, hand in hand.”
“Sounds great,” I smile.
“Can’t wait.” Jenn agrees.
The doors swing open, and the server presents us two small, clear glasses.
“Enjoy thisamuse-bouche,” Robby says grandly, and then he sweeps off into the kitchens.
“What is this?” Jenn whispers. There’s a pale cloud of foam on top of amber liquid.
I consult the menu print-out. Regretfully, I inform her, “Celery foam on bone broth.”
“But… Why?” Jenn whispers, in horror. Then, with more resolve, “Okay. Might be great. I’m just not used to my green veggies being whipped into a foam.”
She gamely takes a sip, nods stoically, and puts it down.
“Well?” I ask. I take my own sip and nearly spit it back up.
“Swamp water,” Jenn whispers.
“Worse,” I whisper back. “It takes like a locker room smells.”
