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When I left the shop, I saw Owen’s truck was still parked outside, and while I told myself I needed dinner, it’s possible I hoped thought I’d run into him here.
I’m keenly aware that he’s just around that corner, probably gathering himself. Maybe talking to Jace.
Maybe regretting his offer to buy me dinner.
Because while it’s absolutely not, it does feel a little date-like.
When he walks around the corner, I zero in on the word Pasta on the menu in my hand, and then my eyes do that un-focusing thing where the words don’t read like words anymore and none of them mean anything.
“Hey.” He sits down across from me.
“Hey.” It comes out tinny. I don’t look up.
“You’re studying that thing like there’s going to be a quiz later.”
“Maybe there will be.”
“I’m sure you’ll ace it.”
I set the menu down. “I’m getting stuffed shells and meatballs.”
“I’m getting lasagna.”
“Great.”
“Good.”
We stare at each other.
“What was that fight about?” I finally ask. “And would you have actually punched that guy if I hadn’t come in?”
“Same crap, different day.” He sighs and looks away. “And yeah. I would have.”
I caught enough of the conversation to fill in the blanks as to the “why” Owen lost his temper. When he was younger, I noticed a trend. Owen really only acted up when he felt stupid.
“You know he’s an idiot, right?”
He shrugs. And as confident as Owen is, I see the remnant of a lot of years of believing he wasn’t smart enough to amount to anything. I don’t know if anyone ever said that to him. Probably, given the fact that he was always getting into trouble. If I had to guess, that guy knew just what buttons to push to set him off.
“And if you don’t take that test, he wins.”
He takes a drink. “Let’s talk about something else.”
The waitress comes by and takes our order. True to form, we order way more food than we can eat because in addition to our entrees, Owen adds garlic bread and I add mozzarella sticks. We agree to share both, but I’ve been known to clear a whole order of mozzarella sticks by myself.
When she walks away, he smirks at me. “Are we going to have a see who can eat more contest?”
“I will eat you under the table,” I say. “You’re out of practice.”
“Big words for someone so small.”
I’m still getting used to talking to Owen in public. It’s strange because in my little corner of this town, people know me. And some of them remember Owen. And while pulling me out of my burning house and saving my life changed the way some people saw him, others won’t ever see him as anything but trouble.
The kid who never obeyed the speed limit.
The kid who brought beer to high school football games and drank it under the bleachers.
The kid who got into fights in the hallway.
