Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 72655 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 363(@200wpm)___ 291(@250wpm)___ 242(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72655 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 363(@200wpm)___ 291(@250wpm)___ 242(@300wpm)
“Naturally,” I deadpan.
“Naturally. The only choice is, what flavor? Oh goodness, check the menu. They have so freaking many!”
It seems, for once, I’ve done something to please her. I might not be cooking the crab legs or making the place smell like divine fishy deliciousness, but at least I discovered it.
“Ooh, they have crab mac and cheese.”
“Lord,” I groan.
“What?” Her head snaps up. “You don’t think that sounds good?” Her eyes linger on me for a few seconds, but it’s a few seconds long enough to make me feel all sorts of heat.
I don’t think she’s ever seen me dressed in casual clothing before. I’ve gone with jeans, a T-shirt, and a jean jacket. She probably thinks it’s too much denim. I think it’s too much denim, but my wardrobe is basically just dress pants and jeans, and I won’t wear it with dress pants because it looks all wrong, so jeans it is.
“It sounds a little fish-spicious.”
“Oh. Oh, goodness. Did you just make a funny?”
“I’m capable of it, I think,” I say with a low chuckle.
She’s back to trying not to smile. “What about the crab and banana split?”
“There is not one of those!” I gasp, my eyes wide.
She turns her phone, and I see it, though I wish I could unsee and unthink it. “I don’t have any good word combos for that one. Just crabana-NO.”
She giggles, and it’s real. I hear it.
“Crab and meatball soup, then?”
“Sound crabballishess.”
“Really?”
“I have no idea.”
“Okay.” She puts her phone down on its face. “I’m getting the crab legs with garlic butter.”
“I think I’ll make that two.”
She looks around. “I think you fill out the order thing there and bring it to the front.” A whiteboard with a marker sits at the end of the booth.
“It’s a good thing I brought you. I have no idea how this works.”
She snatches the board and pops the cap of the marker off. It’s smashed at the tip, and she laughs as she writes in massive blocky letters across the board. Just as she finishes, the waitress who brought me my iced tea earlier swings back around.
“I can take that for you,” she says, beaming at us. “Would you like a drink?”
“Sure. Yes. I don’t know. Whatever’s good,” Evilla responds. She shoots the waitress a friendly smile in return.
“Do you like coconut water?”
“I’ve never tried it,” Evilla replies.
“It’s my favorite,” the waitress tells her.
“Okay, I’ll get one of those.” A pause. Then, Evilla adds, “I like your apron.”
It’s a black and white checkered apron with a red crab waving its claws all the way across the front. “Thanks! We sell them here, actually.”
“Really? I’ll have to get one on my way out.”
“They’re just at the stand by the counter. One coconut water coming up and two amazing platters of crab legs.” She flicks one platinum blonde braid over her shoulder. “Thanks for supporting local. We appreciate it.”
“I’m going to get an apron, and you should too,” Evilla instructs me after the waitress leaves. “You can give one to your mom. Tell her you got it for her while on a date with me. I’m sure she’ll be moony happy.”
“Moony?” I quirk a brow.
“Over the moon. Or however the saying goes.”
“On that note…” I produce a folded-up piece of paper from my pocket and slide it across the table. Evilla hesitates like it’s laced with bad voodoo but then picks it up and unfolds it.
“You were serious about the paper thing.” She studies me blankly. “I thought that was just you talking swill.”
“Swill?”
“The stuff you don’t drink at the bottom of a glass.”
“I see. I thought it would be easier to have a cheat sheet.”
She crumples it into a ball and tosses it back to me. Not meanly, but playfully. I catch it with one hand, mystified by the easy way this woman acts like no one else. I don’t know why I’m surprised since she stuffs crab legs into her purse. That’s some serious disregard for convention right there.
“I think we can get to know each other better if we listen to each other. Reading off a sheet isn’t going to help the answers stick in my head. I also don’t think knowing your favorite color or favorite food is going to get me very far. When people truly hit it off, it’s because they have the same values and some of the same dreams. If I know you like red and that you have two siblings and grew up here, but I don’t know what you think is important in life or where you see yourself in ten years…it’s just not going to work. Agree? Or disagree?”
The whole sheet was full of the basic bullshit that means nothing. She’s right. I like the way she asks. “Agree.” This might be harder than she’s making it out to be. “We’d have to pretend to have common goals and values.” Shit. Her appalled expression more than says that my words came out all wrong. “I don’t mean…I don’t mean that what I want is better or more advanced. We’re just two different people.”