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Day Seven.
“You’re late today,” I observe.
“Am I?”
Luke takes off his jacket and slings it over the back of the chair.
“I thought we make our own hours,” he argues.
He’s got a point.
“I thought you like to beat the admiring horde traffic.”
I have one, too.
“Fair enough. I had a late night.”
“Anything interesting?”
I was joking, but he’s not, and looks away. “No. Couldn’t sleep.”
“I’m sorry.”
He shrugs and stares back at the menu like he hasn’t practically memorized it by now. I know I have. We need something to study when we don’t want to look at each other or the chair. I like the “Breakfast All Day” insert. He seems to prefer the senior specials. I have no idea why. Then it occurs to me that when he buries himself in the menu he doesn’t actually read it like I do. I wonder if he even notices his gaze tends to linger on the senior specials. I decide to find out.
“You know, you have to be over 55 to order from that page.”
He clears his throat, and I can actually see the moment when his eyes change from vacant to focused.
“I’m sure they’d let me, I just wouldn’t get the discounted pricing.”
“That’s true. And to be honest, I bet Ailee would overlook the age restriction and still give you the discount.”
“Ailee?”
I motion toward the hostess station. She’s not watching us. At least, not at this second. But she was before we looked because there is no other way to explain the awkward way she leans against the counter in the opposite direction she should be facing.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen a person do such a complete 180 before. You were a thorn in her side a few days ago.”
“I still am, probably.”
“Yeah, sure. A thorn from a beautiful fragrant rose she will dip in gold and hang above her bed.”
“That’s disturbing on so many levels.”
“Maybe. But am I wrong?”
He glances over at her discreetly and smiles.
“I bet she saves your receipts,” I continue.
“She wouldn’t be the first.”
“It’s memories and an autograph all in one.”
“Nah, just memories. I pay in cash.”
“To avoid leaving an autograph?”
“To avoid having my credit card stolen.”
“True. Yours would probably be more tempting than mine.”
He smiles again. A crafty one this time. I haven’t seen that one before. “Yeah, maybe, but they’d be disappointed.”
“Why’s that?”
“I only have a thousand dollar limit on the card I use for this type of stuff.”
“That’s smart.”
“I said I was silly, not stupid.”
“Yeah, about that. Does silly mean the same thing in South Africa that it means here?”
“Frivolous.”
“Ok, fine. Although, for the record, it can also kind of mean stupid.”
“I was making a point.”
“I know, sorry. I just struggle to see you as silly. Either definition.”
“You wouldn’t have a year ago.”
“When you were the life of the party.”
“When everything was a joke and I refused to take life seriously.”
“A lot of people are like that.”
“Silly people.”
“Scared people.”
He quiets. I struck something.
“You sound like a psychiatrist.”
“I’m sensing that. And how does that make you feel?”
His grin is genuine this time, and I relax. Nothing personal. I keep forgetting that.
“So just to be clear, you’re paying for the coffee today, right?” he asks.
“I don’t know if I can risk it. I have more than a thousand dollar credit limit on my card.”
He glances at Ailee. “I think you’re good.”