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I scan the perfection that is the plate, one tiny dot of cranberry sauce, the size of a dime, in the center. No one on the planet knows me the way Lucas Hobbs does. My chest warms from his kindness, his thoughtfulness, as I realize how much I’ve missed the most perfect best friend in the world.
“Hey, hey.” He must read my thoughts, rising from his knee and slipping into the booth next to me. With anyone else, I would need to explain what I’m feeling. Lucas Hobbs is not anyone else. He wraps a strong arm around my shoulder and pulls me into a side hug. My head lands on his shoulder, and I feel the warmth of a soft kiss on the top of my head. It lingers for three heartbeats before I feel his heated breath near my ear. “I’m home. I won’t leave you again.”
He says the words he knows I need to hear. He knows my fears, most of them.
“My mom has a dog,” Jasmine mutters across the table from us. Both Lucas and I look up at her. She leans forward on the table with wide eyes that say, Hey, I’m here too. “Her name is Bark Twain.”
I feel Lucas shudder out a short laugh. “Brilliant name.” He scoots out of the booth, his attention directed at Jasmine. “You got any pics?” She leaps for her phone, and I feel Lucas’ hand on top of mine. “I’ll be right back with your second course.”
I nod, not trusting my voice. While most people at a buffet stuff their plate with layers and layers of food, Lucas and I prefer to focus each plate on one theme at a time. A salad-focused plate, my Thanksgiving plate, a BBQ plate, pasta, on and on. Based on our mood and how hungry we are, we will rotate through the lines all night long. Our record is twelve plates. It was the night he told me he got accepted to a college on the other side of the country. A night I didn’t want to end. A night we both realized things would never be the same for us.
Jasmine whips a loose strand of hair that had fallen in front of her face behind her ear and holds up her phone. “Where’d he go?”
“Hunger calls.” I direct my eyes toward the buffet table just as a waitress arrives at our table.
“Can I get anyone anything?” she says, holding a refill of Trent’s Arnold Palmer.
Jasmine adjusts the frames of her glasses and stares down at the menu for a split second before lifting an unsteady gaze in my direction.
I tilt my chin toward the buffet table in Lucas’ direction.
Jasmine rips the glasses from her face, stuffing them back into her clutch. “Nothing for me.” She pushes out of the booth, phone in hand, stepping around the waitress. “Be right back.” She takes two quick steps, her ankle twisting from the sudden movement, her too-tall heels causing her to slow her strut. She regains her balance and navigates around the kids scrambling around her. Once the path is clear, she adds a sway to her step, her hips following. She is a woman on a mission—a mission I’ve endorsed. I catch the sideway glances from a few of the fathers, their stares lingering on her short skirt and her swinging hips longer than they should. Those heels, that dress, and that strut would be more than enough to hook most guys.
She nudges up to Lucas, who is bent over the soup station. She pushes her phone into his sight line and scrolls. When Lucas lifts his head back with a loud laugh, I know she’s finally following my advice. She’s showing him dog pictures—she’s found a safe soft spot to connect with my best friend.
I watch as he puts his soup bowl down on the edge of the table and whips out his phone. I already know what he’s about to do. He’s about to show her his collection of dogs he follows on Instagram. It’s something we’ve spent countless hours sharing.
“Did they leave you alone?”
I squint my eyes and turn with the question. Trent. He carries with him a plate piled five inches tall, food pushed to the very edge of the plate. Enough food for a family of three.
“It’s all good. Jasmine changed her mind about the buffet.” I play it off and slide further into the booth, making room for him. “Did you leave anything for anyone else?” I joke.
His laugh fills the booth. It is warm and genuine and relaxes me. “Yeah, I may have a problem when there are so many delicious options placed in front of me. I can’t decide which, so I choose them all.”
I shouldn’t judge him, but they are the words I expect from a man. A person who hasn’t discovered that waiting for the right choice will always feel better than settling for the choices right in front of you.
Trent digs into the mountain of food, a spoonful of baked ziti sliding off the end of the plate unnoticed. He takes a bite and chews before turning to face me. “You’re not going to eat?”
I feel the pull of my half-smile as my gaze floats over his shoulder toward the buffet line. “Naw, I’m going to wait.”
10
I step to the side of the buffet booth and allow Jasmine to slide in first. I divert my eyes from her short dress, which rides high up on her thigh. She either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care, continuing to slide in as her dress continues to rise. I divert my eyes toward the one person I’d rather have sitting next to me. Adrienne.
She’s half turned toward Trent, who holds the limp half of a french fry between his fingers, the other half hanging out of his mouth as he talks. She captures my gaze from the corner of her eyes, a slight smirk on her face and a short wink in my direction.
I shout at ease to my pounding heart. This is just Adrienne being Adrienne. I slip her second plate, her veggie course, in front of her. Colorful glazed carrots, broccoli florets, no stems, pickled cucumbers with red onions, and a greens mixture of one-third Caesar, one-third spring mix, and one-third arugula. A special plate for a special woman.
She mouths the words thank you, BND before her attention returns to Trent. I make note that Adrienne hasn’t started on her first plate. She waited. She always waits for me.
“I see you found your surf and turf,” I joke to Jasmine, pointing to her plate. She is frantically stuffing her glasses into her tiny purse, and I’m not sure why. “Those glasses really work for you. Not every person can pull it off.”
I hope the compliment makes up for my earlier behavior. When her eyes sparkle, I know all is forgiven. She quickly slips her glasses back on, adjusting them on the tip of her nose and offering up a smile, seeking my approval.
“Lucas has always had a thing for the sexy librarian,” Adrienne kids from across the table.
Her well-timed remark is the perfect volley to keep the mood light and fun. My wingwoman at work. “What guy doesn’t? Smart, sexy, and well-read. What’s not to like? Too bad none of the girls that have my attention wear glasses.” I direct my statement at Adrienne, curious for her reaction.
