3. Easton
3
EASTON
O ver a year ago now, I made a complete fool of myself.
In my thirty years of life, I’ve never done anything else that was so completely embarrassing. In fact, when boys got into fights at school, I always kind of laughed. Sometimes I’d roll my eyes.
It’s not that I never understood why they fought.
I get angry too.
But I always prefer to use my brains to sort things out. Only, when I met Bea for the first time, something in my brain broke. She was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. She was so petite that I ached to wrap her up and protect her from the world. She had a gorgeous waterfall of shining, ebony hair. Her eyes were huge, almost anime-sized, and velvety brown. Her mouth distracted me so badly that I continuously found myself lost in the conversation.
And then her movie-star brother had flung his arm around her shoulders and something inside of me snarled. It wasn’t a friendly arm. He was saying “mine” with the movement. It made me angry .
Which was insane. I barely knew her.
But when, a few moments later, he suggested that someone who spent all day in a board room instead of physically training for action movies would have no chance of beating him in an arm wrestle. . .I’m not sure what happened. I mean, looking back on it, obviously my hours of sitting at a desk hadn’t prepared me to beat him.
I worked out.
Apparently not nearly enough.
I put up a decent fight, straining, heaving, puffing, and then he winked at me— winked —and slammed my hand down so hard it sent a bowl of popcorn, a whole bunch of water bottles, and a stack of papers flying off the table to scatter on the ground.
It was loud.
It was humiliating.
And while I fumed, that cretin slung his stupidly muscular arm around Bea and waltzed out of the party. To make everything even worse, he winked at me again as he strolled out.
With Bea.
In my entire life, I have never done something so shamefully embarrassing. But I did find someone online to show me how to arm wrestle after that, and I never skipped shoulders again.
Not that any of that matters.
After that infuriating and humiliating interchange, I spent the weeks leading up to Emerson and Elizabeth’s wedding preparing to meet Bea again. I asked Elizabeth about her, but my sister was worse than useless. She giggled, she made jokes, and then she threatened to tell Emerson I had asked.
It was almost worse than the arm wrestling .
At the wedding, that horrible Jake Priest never left her side, not for a moment for the entire wedding. I swear, maybe it’s because I know they’re foster siblings, and not real siblings, but he acts like she’s his girlfriend. No matter how many times I ducked around corners when I saw her head around one, Jake was already waiting there like a shield.
He didn’t wink again, but it was almost worse than if he had.
And now, as if the only time I can possibly meet her is when I’m at my worst, I bump into her here, at her job, with the most plastic, ridiculous date I could ever imagine. The contrast between Bea’s shining, natural beauty and this woman’s purchased and polished face is appalling, frankly.
I have no idea how I’m supposed to somehow make any inroads with her tonight, while I’m on a date, but if I have to come back here every night for a month, I will.
I decide to start by telling her that I’m excited to be here. “I’ve spent the last few years chained to my desk at the office, but had I known you worked here, I’d have been here sooner. I’ve heard their pork chop is to die for.”
“I don’t think that’s the right choice for you,” she says with a shy smile. “Once you answer the questions, I’ll pick something better.”
“Allergies?” Chaliesah asks. “Wasn’t that the first one?”
Bea nods politely.
Before I can say anything, Chaliesah continues. “Hmm, well. Citrus, sesame, and gluten, though I guess gluten’s not really an allergy, but I can’t eat it, or my face bloats. This face is worth a lot of money, so I can’t have it bloating.” She giggles .
I’m going to kill Mrs. Yaltzinger. This irritating woman is who their matchmaker came up with? They didn’t even tell me her name before our date—they just said my match has over a million followers on social and is an up-and-coming influencer for women’s cosmetics, like that matters more than her lack of a personality.
In spite of the fact that my last ten plus years were devoted almost entirely to either school or work, I’m not willing to marry anyone they point me at. I wonder what they’d say about Bea. For some reason, I doubt she even has social media. Although, who knows? Maybe she has a piano or music account. She looks exactly like a starving artist should, and not just because she’s thin. She just has this air of, “I won’t change who I am for you or anyone else, no matter what.” I had no idea how attractive that was until they set me up with this chameleon who desperately wants me to like her.
I’m wishing I’d spent more time with my new brother-in-law Emerson right about now. Maybe I’d already have run into Bea under better circumstances.
“And you?” When Bea turns toward me, her bright eyes locked on mine, my churning brain goes blank.
Just like the first time we met. I swallow.
“No allergies?”
The only thing I’m allergic to is bee stings, but saying a tiny bug can do me in doesn’t sound very manly, so I don’t mention it. It’s not like it impacts what I eat.
“Question two is, what was the best meal of your life?” She lifts her eyebrows. “Like, tell me what it was, how old you were when you ate it, and where you consumed it.”
“That’s like three questions,” my braintrust date says with a frown that somehow inexplicably creates no wrinkles in either her forehead or the place between her eyebrows. . .probably thanks to an extra helping of Botox.
“I’ll start with this one.” Maybe I can redeem myself. “When I was twelve, my parents took us to London, and I had fish and chips from a food cart, and we ate it while sitting on a bench on the Thames.”
“London sounds posh,” Bea says, “but eating fish and chips on a bench? That doesn’t fit the image of one of the youngest multi-millionaires in New York City.”
“Who knows?” I ask. “I might surprise you.”
Chaliesah’s frown turns into a scowl, which is only apparent by the pursing of her lips and the daggers she’s staring at Bea. “Why would you surprise her? She’s the waitress .”
“You’re right,” Bea says. “It’s my job to surprise both of you. So tell me, what was your best meal?”
“Last week.” Chaliesah straightens, glancing down at her immaculate manicure. “At Per Se in the City, I had the most epic chocolate mousse cake I’ve ever had.” She shrugs.
“That’s not a meal, though.” Bea bites her lip. “Did you love the entree you had there?”
“Of course I did,” Chaliesah says. “The lobster was amazing.”
Bea’s sigh is so slight I wouldn’t have caught it if I wasn’t watching her so closely. Her smile falters for the briefest of moments, like a computer screen that glitches.
It makes me laugh.
“What’s so funny?” Chaliesah snaps, but then, as if she has remembered something, she laughs. It may be the most forced laugh I’ve ever heard. “Just kidding. That was funny.”
Bea’s expression, like she’s seen someone urinating in public and desperately wants to back away slowly, is even funnier than the glitching smile. “My last question is what was your worst meal, and why?”
“Mine was every single time my mom tried to cook,” I joke. “Luckily it almost never happened.”
Bea’s laugh isn’t forced. It’s quick, sharp, and high. She tamps it down quickly, though, and that bums me out. “If you could be a little more specific?—”
“He answered,” Chaliesah says. “And mine was peanut butter sandwiches at a friend’s house.”
“You don’t like peanut butter and jelly?” Bea’s lips pucker. “A good PB&J is one of life’s true indulgences, I think.”
“No one asked what you think, though. Right?” Chaliesah turns toward me and widens her eyes like I should be horrified that our waitress has more than two brain cells, and they aren’t fighting.
“Actually, I’m delighted to hear what she thinks, and like her, I love peanut butter and jelly, especially if the bread is soft and the jelly’s grape.”
“Grape?” Bea scrunches her nose. “Yeesh.”
“Too boring?” I ask.
She shrugs. “Not nearly as fun as, say, orange marmalade.”
Chaliesah tosses her napkin on the table and stands. “Why are we talking about peanut butter sandwiches?” She shakes her head. “We should go to a new place.”
“I like this one,” I say. “And I think that if you’re set up with someone by a high-end matchmaker, even if you don’t like them, you should grit your teeth and endure the meal, wherever you go, instead of making a scene.” I lift my chin and look right at her. “At least, that’s what I’ve been doing.”
Her jaw drops, her bright red lips parted alarmingly wide. “You’ve been. . .” Her mouth snaps closed and she frowns. “Wait, are you saying?—”
“Get it faster,” Bea mutters so softly that I almost miss it.
She shouldn’t have to deal with this just because I am. “Bea, why don’t you take your best stab at what you think we’ll like,” I say. “And then we’ll let you know whether you were right.”
Bea inclines her head, spins around, and darts off.
Chaliesah huffs. Twice. I think she’s trying to decide whether she can bring herself to sit back down. The problem with her is that she’s used to being adored, and people who are always catered to—all their whims and fits indulged—become incapable of polite interactions. I could tell that was her problem within two minutes of meeting her. It was a common affliction when I was growing up, surrounded as I was by spoiled rich kids.
Of course, the slit running from her ankle to her hip bone was another red flag that this woman was probably not the kind of girl I was hoping to meet. I could have done without seeing her electric blue thong peeking out at me with every step, but I’m ignoring the things about her that bother me. She could at least have the decency to do the same.
“Are you really not having fun?” She sticks her bottom lip out.
“Is that a shock?” Maybe she really is extremely stupid.
“You’re not what I expected either.” She narrows her eyes, as if she’s trying to decide whether this can be salvaged.
“Yes, sticking around is a big waste of your time.”
“What happened to gritting your teeth?” She snaps .
Maybe she has more insight than I gave her credit for. “I suppose I couldn’t even take my own advice.”
She grabs her purse and stomps off. About three steps later, though, she’s shifted back into her sultry sway. I suppose it’s not very gratifying to stomp in four-inch Jimmy Choos.
Not three minutes later, Bea breezes by, setting two square plates in front of me. “I brought lobster dumplings for Miss Collagen USA, and I brought the burrata cheese and prosciutto salad for you.” She straightens and frowns. “Did she ask someone where the bathroom was?”
“No.” I shake my head.
Bea winces. “I should check and make sure she found it.”
“Is that something waitresses generally do?” I can’t help teasing her a little.
“Well, not usually, no, but. . .” She leans closer and drops her voice. “I was told you’re a VIP, and for VIPs, we’ll do most anything.”
“What if I told you my date ditched me, and I’m now terribly depressed?” I spread my hands across the top of the white linen tablecloth. “Would your boss let you eat with me to take some of the sting away?”
It’s that same laugh again. Short, sharp, high.
I love it. “I’m not kidding.” I hold her gaze.
“She really left?” She tilts her head. “I find that hard to believe, honestly. She seemed ready to challenge me to a duel when I—” Her mouth snaps shut.
What was she going to say? When she what ? “When you. . .?” I raise both eyebrows.
She ducks her head. “Never mind.”
When she flirted with me? Is that what she meant? I hope that’s what she’s been doing. Is that really why Chaliesah stormed off? Can she tell I like Bea?
More importantly, is there a chance Bea likes me?
“I’m sure you’re teasing, but I definitely can’t eat with you,” she says. “I’m working.”
“Right,” I say. “Of course. But maybe you could get that to go.” I toss my head at the lobster dumplings. “Then you can take them home and pretend you were eating with me.” Oh man, I’m corny. She’s going to laugh and walk off.
But she doesn’t.
She inhales and ducks her head again, like she’s embarrassed.
That might be worse. Am I harassing my waitress? Am I that guy now? Before she has to say anything else, I reach across and grab the lobster puff things and shove them both in my mouth. “Wow. Those are good.”
Bea straightens, her shoulders squaring. “That’s not usually how people eat them.”
I chew, chew, chew, and swallow. The bite is so big it hurts my throat going down, like it’s dragging its hands down the inside of my esophagus. “No?” I cough. “You don’t say.”
There’s the laugh, but at least she doesn’t walk off, and she’s laughing at me, not because I’ve made her nervous or uncomfortable. “I didn’t bring those for you, though.” She tosses her head at the prosciutto and cheese thing. “The burrata’s what you’re supposed to like.”
“You thought Chaliesah would love the lobster dumplings?” I ask. “Why?” I mean, they were good, but they tasted pan fried, and I don’t imagine she eats a lot of oil .
Bea narrows her eyes at me. “Just try yours.”
I stare at her for a moment, wondering what she’s thinking, and then I nod and look down at my food. I cut the cheese into a smaller piece and spear a slice of prosciutto, making sure to get some arugula and the balsamic. When I pop it in my mouth, I don’t expect much. At the end of the day, prosciutto’s really just ham in a tux.
But this is. . . more. The pickled onion, the hint of seared squash, and the tang of cider—together with the balsamic—the flavors are amplified in a way I didn’t expect. I scoop up a second little blob more slowly, and when I pop it in my mouth, I savor it, closing my eyes, inhaling slowly.
When I finally open my eyes, Bea’s smiling. “Told you.”
“How did you—why’d you pick this?”
She shrugs. “I was right, though.”
“It was phenomenal,” I admit. “But now you have to tell me why you picked lobster for Miss Collagen USA.” Which has to be the funniest nickname I’ve ever heard of someone giving a person they’ve barely met.
Bea purses her already full lips, and I want to reach out and brush my thumb against them.
Because apparently I’m insane around her.
She sighs, like she’s decided something, and then she says, “I’m not proud of it, but I chose them because she said she liked seafood, and I know they’re made with flour, so I thought she might still eat them in spite of that.” Her lip’s twitching. “I’m a jerk, but she said it wasn’t an allergy, so I won’t apologize for it.”
This time, I’m the one laughing. “It’s too bad she didn’t get a chance to bloat,” I say .
“Her face is worth a lot of money,” Bea says. “I guess I’m kind of a bad person.” She spins around on her heel and disappears.
I should probably pay and leave, but even the Hulk couldn’t drag me out of this restaurant. I know it’s not a date anymore, but it feels more like a date now than it did with my date sitting across from me.
Like a creeper, I pretend to be on my phone, but really I watch Bea take care of her other tables. She’s so small that watching her carry big trays is, well, it’s surprising somehow. She acts like a tray with four or five plates on it weighs nothing, setting it effortlessly on the small stand she whips out with her free hand.
It’s not very long before Bea returns with two plates for me. “I’d already put in the order.” She bites her lip.
I swear, if I wasn’t sure she’s not some crazy vixen, I’d assume she was pursing and biting her lips just to draw attention to them. They look like what Chaliesah clearly wanted hers to look when she had all that collagen put in.
Large. Plump. And currently? Being bitten by very white teeth.
One of which is just a tiny bit crooked. The one just to the left of her front two teeth is angled just a hair, and I love it.
“No?”
Shoot. She asked me something.
“No?” I repeat her question like a moron.
A tiny smile curves at the edge of her mouth. “You don’t want freshly ground pepper? Right?”
Yes. The food. Because that’s her job.
I glance down for the first time to see what she brought. “A burger?” I can’t help my surprise .
“For your date, I brought the sweet Melissa Surf and Turf—crab leg, a six-ounce filet, butterflied, with chili butter. It’s got a very subtle zing that only the most discerning palate will catch.”
“So she’d be sure to miss it.” I point at my burger. “But explain this.”
“Try it first.” She folds her arms across her chest.
I want to argue, but she’s channeling a pretty impressive amount of third-grade teacher, so I duck my head, pick up the burger, and take a dutiful bite.
Like the prosciutto, this is an explosion of several flavors that I do not expect. Burgers at steakhouses usually have a thick, juicy patty, often flavored with a lot of salt and strange seasonings.
This is nothing like that.
Instead, it tastes like maybe two or three very thin, very crispy patties. They’re almost lacy on the sides, and they’re seasoned only by salt, unless I’m wrong. Anything more would fight with the strangely sharp gouda cheese that’s not quite melted, the crisp red onions that were clearly marinated in something tangy, and some kind of sauce I can’t place.
Maple?
“And?” She arches one eyebrow.
The bun’s soft on top, crunchy underneath, and the sauce, the onions, and the cheese offset the patties perfectly. It’s the best burger I’ve ever had, and I love burgers. I didn’t tell her that. After what I did tell her, I expected seafood.
“It’s really, really good. But if this burger costs a hundred bucks, I’m going to be annoyed.”
“Will you really?” She drops one hand on her hip.
Nothing she does could annoy me. “Absolutely,” I lie .
“You’re in luck, then. It’s the cheapest thing on the menu.”
“Doesn’t that cut into your tip?”
She shrugs. “I think happy customers tip better.”
“But surely ten percent of a hundred bucks is better than twenty or thirty percent of twenty-five?”
Bea leans closer, her breath washing over the side of my face when she whispers, “People come here for an experience. As long as we deliver, we’re doing our job.”
An experience.
I turn so I can see her face, and I’m lost again. Her eyes are like nothing I’ve ever seen. So earnest, so sincere, and so doe-like. “Well, I appreciate your sensibility about my budget.” I cringe as I say it. What’s wrong with me? I haven’t flirted in so long—have I forgotten how? That’s embarrassing.
She straightens. “What should I do with hers?”
“Do you happen to like crab or filet?”
She scrunches her nose. “I prefer mine medium rare, but there’s no way she’d eat that.”
“So you ruined a perfectly good filet.”
“It’s butterflied.” She shrugs. “So yeah, ruined.”
I laugh again. “Better throw it to the dogs.”
“Do you have a dog?”
I’ve never wanted to have a dog more in my entire life. “I should get one, now that I have a little more time.” I smile. “I know someone who could help me with it.” Gah, Easton, you idiot. I should have told her I needed her help in picking one.
“Elizabeth’s very passionate about pets,” she says.
“You’re not?”
“I like animals,” she says. “But I’m not really in a position to take care of one. I work long hours, and I’m not exactly ordering steaks and crab to toss to a dog.” She winks.
I’m such an idiot. She’s a waitress, and I’m just reminding her of that. “I feel you on not having the time.” And now I’m just staring at her again.
“Well, I’ll let you eat that burger.” She shoots me a half-smile and then she’s gone.
Like a buttercup at sunset, I slump over my burger. It’s delicious, but I swear it tastes twice as good when she’s smiling in my direction.
When she brings me a dessert—just one this time—I perk back up. “What’s this?”
She’s literally carrying a balloon suspended by what looks sort of like a sour straw, connected to a tray that’s covered with chocolates and syrup.
“You seem like someone who appreciates presentation as much as flavor.” She tilts her head. “Is that wrong?”
“You brought me a balloon? Do you think I’m five?” Oh, shoot. Does she?
Her smile’s tentative. “It’s an edible helium balloon. Our chef’s best friend invented the idea with him in cooking school, and the restaurant Alinea in Chicago and this one are the only two places that serve them, as far as I know.”
“Whoa, you’re saying I can eat that?” I lean closer. “But it’s floating.” It’s clear, shiny, and. . . “Is there helium in it?”
Now her smile widens. “There sure is. If Miss Collagen USA were here, you could serenade her in falsetto.”
“Who will I serenade without my date?” I fake a frown. “I’m all alone, no one to sing to. Don’t you feel sorry for me? ”
“Not even a little bit.” She shrugs.
“Heartless.”
“I suppose.”
I poke it and suck in the helium immediately, hoping to keep her around a little longer. But when I start to talk, I surprise even myself. I sound like Peewee Herman. “Bea—is it short for Beatrice?”
She nods.
“You know, I don’t even know your last name. How can I serenade you without your last name?”
She’s laughing now. “No serenading, please. It’s frowned upon.”
I inhale the last bit of helium and sing, “Bea, Bea, Bea, Be-a-trice Ann,” to the old Beach Boys hit.
“The Beach Boys?” She waves me off. “How old are you?” But she’s laughing.
“I discovered as a kid that if we put on the Beach Boys, my dad would drive faster on road trips.”
“You’re kidding.”
I shake my head. “That one thing cut our trips down by like an hour, I swear.”
But just then, the table behind us starts waving. “Check?”
In a blink, she’s gone. I console myself by eating the sugary, sticky, almost taffy-like balloon, and mopping up the chocolate sauce with the sour-straw-esque string.
When Bea returns with the check, I’m ready. I throw my card down without even looking at it. Before she can dart away, I make my move. “So, Bea. You couldn’t eat with me tonight, and that bummed me out. I’d love to take you out—anywhere you want—and actually eat at the same time as you.”
Her brows draw together, and she ducks her head again, but when she does look up, I can tell it’s not good news for me. “I’m sorry, but I think that’s a bad idea.”
The really terrible news hits when another waiter brings the card back. “Bea’s shift ended,” he says.
Only, I’m pretty sure she ran—from me.
Now I have to find out why and fix it. She’s good enough that I can’t let her get away a third time.