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“You want anAbita, Emily?”
“Yes.”
“You’re kidding me,” John grinned, eyes widening in surprise, looking at the waiter. “Do you have anyAndygatororTurbodog?”
“I’ve got both beers in stock.”
“I’ll have aTurbodogthen.”
“I’ll put your order in… oh, Emily do you want your beignets to-go?”
John was still grinning, looking over his folded hands at her, with one eyebrow arched inquisitively.
“Should I make it two orders?” Tommy asked.
“We’ll have them here,” John said, not looking away from Emily, who was blushing profusely at the intense attention from her dinner companion. “I’m not sure where the pretty lady is going to put all that food, but we’ve got all night.”
Tommy walked off a few moments later and Emily sat there quietly, looking around, simply to avoid looking at John. Finally, she glanced over and sighed.
“You’re making me nervous.”
“Same,” he replied easily, without hesitation, as Tommy brought them their beers. Emily picked up her bottle, taking a large sip of the light beer with the faint raspberry taste… only to look at John again.
“What?” she said bluntly. “Just say what it is you are thinking and let’s get it out there, so things are not getting weird, my Cajun friend.”
“I’m wondering how much that dress stretches,” John sat back, taking a sip of his beer, and looking at her with interest keenly. “I’m thinking that it’s crazy to find someone that appreciates oysters, a good Louisiana beer, and doesn’t get squeamish at getting their fingers dirty in a spicy shrimp boil… and most surprisingly? I’m thinking, ‘How can I get her to talk more, open up, or give me her phone number?’,” he admitted openly.
“You simply ask,” she replied, reaching over the table to tip her beer bottle against his with an audible clink. “Don’t make it weird if you want to be friends. Just be open, talk to me, and keep it normal.”
“Friends, huh.”
“Yep, just friends,” she replied, thinking of his words as she took another sip right before Tommy appeared with the massive bowl filled with ice, carrying the oysters.
The lemon wedges wobbled precariously on the ice beside the shells. There were also two little blue buckets containing horseradish and cocktail sauce with two teensy oyster forks.
“I haven’t had these in forever…” John began, reaching for a shell, and hesitated.
“What?”
“Sorry, I’m just diving in and…”
“Would you just eat?” she chuckled, picking up a shell herself to get things started. She dislodged the little oyster from the shell where it clung to it by a tendon, deposited a small lump of horseradish on top with a little lemon… only to hear silence.
Glancing up, she saw John was watching her – smiling.
“Cheers?” he began – leaning forward and tapping his shell against hers, causing the brine/lemon solution to tip over the shell.
“No stealing my lemon juice…” she taunted playfully, and was glad to hear him laugh easily.
“Lemon is okay – but I certainly don’t want the horseradish…” he shivered – and unbelievably winked at her. This was really nice to see how easy it was to talk or be around him once they relaxed a bit.
He put the shell up to his lips and slurped back the oyster without any hesitation, before closing his eyes happily, and sighing.
“Those are sooo good,” he admitted, reaching for another shell. “You were so right about this place, and I can’t wait until they bring out the shrimp boil. Do they bring it out in a bucket and pour it out on newspaper? I saw the drains on the floor…”
“No, you get a bag that has everything kinda self-contained,” she countered and ate her oyster. The burst of salty, spicy, lemony flavors exploded in her mouth as it slid back on her tongue and she swallowed, closing her own eyes before uttering in sheer happiness her own appreciation.
“Ohhh those are really fresh and so good – not grainy or salty.”
