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Sincerely,
Ready in Red
“In red?” Coco asks.
I shrug. “My Buick’s red.”
“Perfect.” Her blue eyes flutter up to mine. “Now, hit send.”
19
Annie
Isit three tables away from Owen in this swanky joint that Kayla found online. I’d never heard of it. But we are testing first impressions tonight. So, something swanky for the college professor it is. Plus, I had Owen stop and pick up flowers on the way here—roses. Yellow, not red. Classic, but not overly romantic vibes. Well, unless you’re me. Yellow is my favorite.
I’ve reminded him to smile. Owen’s smile is sort of epic. And while that kid is almost always smiling, he didn’t smile at Ang but once or twice. I think he must have been nervous—or, in his defense, dying.
He’s also going to incorporate the ask three meaningful questions and share at least one meaningful piece of information about yourself. I suggested that he share about his sister. Discovering you have a long-lost sister is pretty unique and personal.
But Owen doesn’t think that sounds like first-date type of sharing.
So, I think he’s planning to share his love of teaching.
I’m watching Owen, both of us waiting for Belle, who maylose points in the first impression category, seeing how she is officially two minutes late when I sense rather than see the presence at my side.
“Are you ready to order?” says an older gentleman who looks like he fell right out of an old black-and-white film. His tone is droll, and his mustache is so immaculately trimmed I’m guessing he uses a ruler when trimming. He’s even in a white shirt and black pants, with a black vest to boot—then again, so are all the other waiters. But this guy—he is Mr. Swanky waiter.
“Um. Sure. I’ll take the cheapest item on the menu and some water.”
Mr. Swanky clears his throat, and I think it’s an attempt to get me to look at him. “You’d like the peanut and cucumber salad? Or sparkling water with your water?”
I knit my brows. “How about the cheapest entree? Err—no, bring me the peanut salad. That’ll work.” I clamp down on my lip and take my eyes away from Owen for a second. “Um, how long can I sit here with my peanut salad?”
To my surprise, Mr. Swanky has no questions. He gives me an answer with very little thought. “Twenty minutes, ma’am.”
I hiss. “What if I throw in the sparkling water?”
“Thirty.”
I pull in a breath. I guess that will have to do. I am measuring first impressions. That should give me plenty of time. That is, if Belle decides to—
“Oh! Shh! There she is!”
“Yes, ma’am.” And with that, Mr. Swanky leaves.
Belle’s hair rains down her back like a waterfall. She’s pretty—very pretty. Which, for some reason, makes my skin itch.
Owen hands her the yellow roses, and I see her cheeks blossom into a grin. I may only have a side view of the girl, but the flowers are a hit. We are off on the right foot.
Owen smiles at her, and while it isn’t forced, it isn’t exactlynatural either. My friend could beat out Ryan Gosling in a looks contest with his true smile.
Still, I mentally check off roses and smile. He’s doing great, and Belle seems to be reciprocating all of the attention.
I watch for another five minutes when Mr. Swanky is back with my peanut salad and sparkling water. Huh. There’s not much to it—there’s not even one lettuce leaf. It’s just a bunch of cucumbers in some sort of sauce with crushed peanuts on top.
“Hey, Swanky,” I say, reaching up and tugging on the man’s sleeve. “Can you listen to what’s happening at that table”—I flick my chin in Owen’s direction—“there.”
“Swanky? Ma’am, my name is Bernard.”
