Olivia
“You know, we don’t always have to go somewhere fancy to eat,” I tell Luca as he silently drives us to the mystery destination for date number four.
“Believe it or not, I usually just grab salads or sandwiches at grocery stores or get Thai takeout. And if I have a really wild hair, I’ll hit up a food truck,” I tell him and watch his face scrunch. I just laugh.
“Well, we might have to do that from the looks of things,” he mutters.
“What do you mean?” I ask. Then I look up at the road. “Oh.”
The highway traffic is backed up so badly that people are being rerouted off of every main road.
“Rush hour?” I ask.
“I’m thinking it’s a bad accident,” he says, spitefully following the snake of cars headed onto the back roads. Then he lets out an irritated sigh. “Well, so much for our reservation.”
“It’s alright,” I insist. “Like I said, spontaneity is my middle name.”
“I thought it was second-hand footwear…” he says.
“Was that a joke?” I ask. “Did you just attempt to be funny?”
“It wasn’t funny. It was factual,” he says, and I narrow my eyes.
“Oh really? Because I see the hint of a smirk,” I say.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says, but I just grin. Because it’s there, playing in the corners of his lips, flexing in his jawline. “I’m sorry about this,” he says. “We are headed north, away from everything.” “Not everything,” I tell him. “We could go to Salem.”
“Salem?” he echoes. “That’s nearly an hour away.”
I pull my phone out. “And looking at the map, which is a spiderweb of red by the way, it’s an hour to everything. Might as well go to the Sidecar Kitchen.”
“The Sidecar Kitchen,” he echoes skeptically.
“Yes. You haven’t heard of it?” I ask, and Luca shakes his head. “Oh my god. It’s amazing. Mismatched tables and chairs, shaggy rugs and weird cocktails, and all the plates and bowls are handmade pottery from local artists. I’ve been wanting to try it for ages,” I say.
“You haven’t been there?” “Nope,” I tell him, pulling it up on the map.
“And you’re recommending it to me. But you’ve never been,” he states.
“Yes. I found it on Instagram,” I answer. “See?” Then I hold up a photo.
Luca just shakes his head in disbelief. “Do you always find your food on social media?”
“It’s better than finding true love on an app,” I say, and to that, he is silent.
After we are away from the city, the traffic dies down a little, though we are still in for a decent drive.
“I love the outskirts of Boston,” I say. “It’s so peaceful.”
Luca says nothing, and I don’t know which is clenched more tightly, his hands on the steering wheel or his jawline.
“We should listen to music,” I suggest. “What kind of music do you like?”
“I thought you said you liked the outskirts because it’s quiet,” he says.
“I said peaceful. And you’re quiet enough for the whole state of Massachusetts. Now I know you like Hozier, but what else do you like?” I ask.
“How about you pick the first song and I’ll tell you whether or not I hate it,” he suggests.
“Suit yourself,” I shrug, pulling up my music library. “As long as you don’t have too much fun.”
I am staring down at my screen, but I catch his expression out of the corner of my eye, and I swear there is amusement in there somewhere.
The first song I pull up is Landslide.
“No,” he says almost immediately.
“But it’s Fleetwood Mac,” I argue.
“I know who it is. I’m not a fan,” he states.
“Lame,” I mutter.
“I’m just following the aforementioned rules,” he says.
“Fine. How about this?” I ask, switching to Alanis Morrisette.
“Is your entire music library filled with feminists?” he asks.
“No…only half,” I say.
“Well, how about we try the other half,” he says, and it’s obviously not a suggestion.
It’s also kind of funny. He might be a no-nonsense man, but there is a humor under all those frown lines.
It’s a dry humor. Second only to the Sahara.
But it’s there. And it’s fun dragging it to the surface of his stubborn personality.
I wordlessly play Hall he just sips his whiskey. The waitress eyes him again, takes our menus and walks back to the kitchen, and I giggle.
“What?” he asks me.
“Nothing. But you’re right. She does look like she’s waiting for you to tie her to the stake,” I answer.
“Told you.”
“How’s the whiskey?” I ask as he takes another sip and leans back in his chair.
“Surprisingly good,” he admits.
“How’s the date?” I ask.
“Also surprisingly good,” he says and my mouth pops open.
“You’re not having a good time?” I ask.
“I never said that. Actually, I said the opposite,” he answers.
“Yeah, but you said surprisingly,” I say.
“I’m not surprised that a date with you is good. I wouldn’t be on date four if that were the case. I’m surprised that despite the fact everything has gone wrong, it’s still turning out…surprisingly well.”
I smile at that. “I find that a little spontaneity typically only makes experiences better,” I tell him.
“I don’t like the unpredictable,” he says.
“Why?”
“Because there’s no control,” he answers.
“That’s not always a bad thing,” I tell him. “The universe is full of big, wild, untamable things. Spontaneity and going with the flow release us from the pressure of responsibility for those things.”
“I don’t like feeling like I have no control,” he reiterates, and I just study him with a soft smile.
“That’s unfortunate,” I say. “It must be exhausting.”
Something in his face softens for all of a split second. But then our food comes and his face returns to its normal, guarded state.
“Alright,” he nods with a mouth full of black bean burger. “You were right. This is…so good.”
“Right?” I ask. “Vegetarian food is so underrated.”
“It has so much flavor,” he says, snagging a truffle fry and popping it in his mouth before dusting off his hands. I smile at the sight, taking another bite myself.
“Listen,” I say. “I’m not a vegetarian. But I do love vegetarian food. And this place is all over Instagram. I’m so excited I finally got to come here.”
Luca nods and grabs his drink, his blue eyes landing on me.
“Uh oh,” I say. “What’s that look?”
“It’s not a look,” he says casually. “I’m just…having a good time, that’s all.”
“Really?” I ask with a smile. “You’re having a good time. Even though we weren’t able to go to whatever fancy-shmancy, reservations-only place you had on the calendar? And even though the burger is made of beans, and we are over an hour from home, and it’s going to rain?”
“Even though we weren’t able to go to Roma and Vine,” he says and my mouth pops open. Roma and Vine is a very high-end Italian place, but that’s beside the point. “And even though there are beans in the burger, and it’s going to rain. Wait. It’s going to rain?” he asks, pulling out his phone.
“Yes,” I say. “I’m afraid so.”
“But my phone says clear skies,” he shakes his head. “What makes you think it’s going to rain?”
The sky cracks with light before a boom shakes the windows, and rain begins to fall. I point at the sky while still looking at Luca.
“Perfect,” he says. “We should probably get going before it gets bad.”
“Too late,” the waitress says. “It’s already bad. You’re not planning on driving in it, are you? I wouldn’t drive in it. Especially not in that fancy car you have out front.”
“How do you know which car is mine?” he asks.
“Easy. I profiled you,” she says flatly as she sets the check on the table. “But seriously. I wouldn’t go anywhere. Storms like this flood the roads pretty badly.”
After she walks away, we just look at each other.
“I guess we aren’t going anywhere anytime soon,” I say.
“I mean, I don’t know about not going anywhere…maybe just not home,” he says as he takes care of the check.
My heart speeds up in my chest. “What did you have in mind?”
“Well,” he says, setting the pen down and picking up his drink again. “There’s a hotel down the road. And it sounds like we’re stuck.”
“Sounds like it,” I say.
“Don’t worry. We can get a room with two beds,” he says, and it takes a moment for the smile to reach my lips. It’s a thoughtful move for sure…but I’m not entirely sure I wanted him to be so thoughtful.