Chapter Two
It was easy to lose track of time when amongst books. I took my time browsing carefully, searching for a promised treasure and determined not to leave empty-handed. I ended up finding a copy of Little Women that had a prettily painted cover, and even though the yellowed pages were too loose to actually read it, I felt I needed to have it on my bookshelf.
My phone buzzed from inside my pocket again, and I hit ignore again. I didn’t need to look at it to know who kept calling.
You’d think he’d have given up by now. Did he honestly expect me to wait all day for him there? It was good to let him wonder where I was for a change.
The sun was beginning to set when we finally emerged from Tolstoy and Austen and Dickens. My stomach rumbled rather embarrassingly.
“I guess I missed lunch,” I said with a shy smile.
“I could eat.” Tobias returned my smile, letting me know with his eyes that he wasn’t quite ready to say goodbye either.
“How do you feel about Cajun food?” I asked, realizing one of my favorite restaurants was only a couple of blocks from here.
“We’re too far north for that to be authentic,” he answered with a smirk.
“Okay, better question: how adventurous are you feeling?”
“Lead the way” was his response, sending a strange jolt right through my chest.
The Lost Cajun was an accidental discovery last summer during the one and only blind date I had ever been on. The date was terrible, but the food was good, so I suppose in the end it was worth it.
The conversation never slowed as we walked to the restaurant, nor did it as we devoured our chicken gumbo. How strange it was that I felt so comfortable around someone I had just met. Though in all fairness we weren’t really strangers anymore after all; we had just spent the better part of the day together. Sure, we shared no details about our lives. But still, there was some sort of camaraderie between us now as we talked about the places we’ve been and the places we still wanted to go.
We talked about movies and shows we liked. His taste was almost as eclectic as mine.
“I draw the line at Westerns,” I teased.
“Lonesome Dove is an epic adventure,” he insisted. “The book won the 1986 Pulitzer Prize for fiction.”
“How do you even know that?” I asked.
“I have a knack for remembering random trivia,” he said with a casual shrug.
“I just can’t get into Westerns. Even if they are Pulitzer Prize-worthy.”
“To be honest, I’ve never read it,” he admitted. “But I watched the miniseries with my grandma when I was a kid.” He paused for a moment before adding, “I have heard the book is better, though, so maybe one day I will.“
“I hate it when movies butcher the books they are based on,” I said. “What is the worst book-to-movie adaptation in your opinion?”
“The Hobbit,” he answered almost immediately.
“It’s Riordan’s Percy Jackson and the Lightning Thief for me.”
“Agreed, I forgot about that one,” he said with a laugh. “I read that even the author hates the movies.”
“I heard that too—something about them leaving him out of the whole process, which I think is ridiculous. The author should be the primary source of information and involved in all decisions being made about their story.”
That’s how dinner went—seamlessly transitioning from one topic to another.
Of course, we covered the lighter subjects like our favorite foods (we both said Greek was our favorite); music we loved (he favored classic rock, whereas I was more of a pop girl, and we both agreed country is the worse genre); places we want to travel to (Asia for him, Europe for me) to eventually deeper topics like politics and religion. Things that normally were considered rude to discuss, we discussed. Probably because we knew that we’d likely never see each other again. The night could have lasted forever, and I don’t think it would last long enough.
“Can I interest y”all in some café au lait and beignets?” the waitress asked as she was clearing away our dinner bowls.
“I always say yes to coffee. It’s a rule,” Tobias said, very seriously, which made me laugh a little.
“Two coffees and a plate of beignets to share please.”