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Maybe this new job and new life will come with new friends, and I won’t feel so isolated anymore. It seems like almost too much to hope for, considering all the other things I need to go right, but nevertheless, I cross my fingers for luck.
At twenty minutes to three, I head down the sidewalk to Sal’s. I opted out of my heels today, choosing a pair of silver flats instead, and my feet are much happier for it. I step through the front doors to an almost empty dining room, much different from the lively atmosphere from yesterday.
My eyes immediately dart toward the bar, searching for any sign of Alessandro, expecting to see his broad shoulders and gray-streaked hair bobbing behind the counter, but he’s nowhere in sight. As I take a deep breath, searching for his tantalizing bourbon and smoky wood, I also come up short.
He isn’t here.
A slight sinking feeling starts in my chest, tumbling like a stone into my stomach.
I’d hoped he would be here simply to serve as a familiar face, although I did talk to Damon for a few minutes yesterday. It’s not the same. Alessandro and I joked around for hours, bickering back and forth like old friends, and I was looking forward to smarting off to him again.
Looks like that won’t be happening today.
I don’t know why he has that effect on me–I’ve never been a very vocal person, much less a combative one, but for some reason, he draws it out of me, which I kind of like about myself. The old me was soft and timid. She let men run all over her because she thought that’s what she was supposed to do, and it got me nowhere.
Now, I’ll never let it happen again.
I’ll harness whatever confidence I can and speak my mind the way betas do, if not more so. I don’t have to be shy and quiet and poised. I can be whoever I want to be without worrying about what people think. All that matters is whatIthink at this point, so I’m going to focus on being exactly who I want to be.
And right now, that’s hungry.
The aroma of perfectly cooked Italian food hits my nose seconds later, and my stomach growls. Is it really possible that all I had to eat today was the muffin this morning? My nerves must have overridden my appetite, but now, it’s back in full force.
The same red-headed hostess from yesterday steps up to the hostess stand and greets me with a warm smile. Her hair is slicked back into a bun, her lips stained red.
“How many?” she asks.
I dread my response, knowing it’s exactly what I said yesterday before everything came crashing down around me, and I hold my breath. “I’m here for an interview.”
At the answer, her eyes light up, and she nods her head. “Oh yes. Mr. Costa said you’d be coming in today. Right this way.”
My held breath comes out in a sigh of relief, and some of the tension melts from my body.Thank fuck.This isn’t like last time after all. Alessandro held up his word and secured me an interview.
The hostess leads me to a table at the back of the dining area, to the darkest corner beneath a fake lantern with plastic greenery climbing up a lattice wall. I hadn’t noticed the decor yesterday, but the entire restaurant is adorned to look like a quaint Tuscan alleyway.
It’s beautiful, the attention to detail immaculate, and as I recall Alessandro’s slight accent, it all makes sense. He’s clearly Italian, and this entire place must be an homage to his home.
“What can I get you to drink?” she asks as I slide into the booth, sitting my purse beside me on the seat.
“Just water, thanks.” I return her kind smile. I’d absolutely love something tastier than water, but since I know water will be the most filling, I settle for that. After this interview, I’m going to spend a few bucks on dinner and stuff my face for sure.
Hopefully, this won’t take too long.
When the hostess returns, not only is she carrying my water, but she brings a basket of breadsticks with butter, and I think I might cry. The smell is delicious, making my mouth water instantly, and I snatch one as soon as they’re on the table before I can stop myself.
“They’re my favorite. I’m Sara, by the way.” A grin, which I’m beginning to think is part of this place’s mandatory wardrobe, crosses her face.
“I’m Jessa,” I manage before I sink my teeth into the first breadstick without remorse. I hope she heads back to the hostess stand soon so I can inhale these before the manager makes his way over.
I’m so hungry, I can hardly stand it.
“Did you want to start with an appetizer?” Sara asks.
I freeze, breadstick halfway in my mouth and look up at her, confused.
“I’m sorry, I said I was here for an interview,” I explain, regaining my composure. Haven’t we established that already? “I’m not here to eat.”
“Oh.” She cocks her head to the side, and I worry for a second that I might have disappointed her. If I’m not eating, that means she’s not making any tips, and now I feel bad for annihilating this breadstick before I had the chance to clarify.Damn it.
