Chapter 17
Chapter Seventeen
Weston
“Two Cokes coming up. Look at the menu, and I’ll be back to take your order.”
Sam pulled two menus that were being held up by the metal napkin holder and handed me one. It was laminated. I hadn’t seen one of these in years, or maybe never. I glanced over the menu. All I could see in my head was the chalkboard near the entrance with the ridiculous writing.
“What exactly is a patty melt?” I asked Sam.
“Huh? You’ve never had a patty melt before?”
“No. I can’t say that I have.”
“Weston.” She cocked her head.
“What?”
“This is a tragedy,” she said.
“It’s not that serious, Sam.”
“It is, Wes. Okay, think of a cheeseburger. Can you picture it?”
“Yes.”
“Now forget everything you know about that cheeseburger.”
I chuckled. “That seems unnecessary. Can you just explain it to me?”
“The beef patty is thicker, and the onions are grilled to perfection. The cheese is melted all over, and instead of a bun, they put it between two pieces of buttery, delicious grilled rye bread.”
“Rye bread?” My brows furrowed.
“Trust the process, Wes. I know this is foreign to you.”
“What are you telling him to trust the process about, sweetheart?” Linda said, walking over and setting our Cokes down.
“Wes has never had a patty melt.”
“I’m not surprised,” she sighed.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I immediately became defensive.
“Best way to explain a patty melt is crispy on the outside and gooey on the inside,” Linda said. “It’s our most popular item on the menu. A lot of folks find it very comforting after having a bad day.”
“Well, I didn’t have a bad day, but I’ll try it,” I said.
“Fries?” Linda stared at him.
“Sure, why not?” I set my menu down.
“And for you, sweetheart?” She glanced at Sam.
“I’ll have the same.” She smiled.
“Excellent. Your food will be up shortly.”
“I can say that I really enjoyed your class today.” I smiled.
“You did?” She flashed a smile back. “Wait. You spent 45 minutes being attacked by teenagers.”
“True.” I chuckled. “But only because you were making fun of rich people.”
“I make fun of the characters in English Literature. It wasn’t directed toward you.”
“That one kid said he compared me to Gatsby. Care to explain why?” My brow raised.
“It was the Monday after our date, and we’d just finished The Great Gatsby. Devon saw the article on Page Six. They were harassing me, Wes. I had to think of something quickly. So, I had them archetype you. That’s Devon for you.” She grinned.
“Well, now they’re going to compare me to Mr. Darcy.” A smirk crossed my lips.
“I’ll let you know how that goes.”
“You do that because I’m curious as hell.”
“Why?” She frowned.
“Because I’d spent my career in boardrooms and presentations with a room full of people who carefully chose every word they spoke so as not to offend me or get fired.
But your students weren’t afraid, and they didn’t care.
I won’t lie. It was a little bit refreshing.
I liked how engaged they were, which is difficult to get students to be.
You’re an impressive teacher, Miss Hollis. ”
“Thank you. I try. A lot of people think English Lit is boring as hell.”
“You think?” I smirked.
“Quiet.” She smiled. “What’s the one thing teenagers live for besides their phones and social media?”
“Enlighten me. I can’t say I really know anything about teenagers.”
“You were a teenager once,” she said.
“In a boarding school where the rules were so strict, we’d felt like our teenage years were stolen from us.”
“That’s sad. Anyway, they live for gossip. So that’s how I teach. I can have their full attention for an hour, as long as they think we’re gossiping. My whole goal as a teacher is to make my students fall in love with every story before the end of the school year.”
“Have you ever failed?”
“Not yet.” She grinned.
“I do have one question, though.”
“What is your question, Mr. Castile?”
“Why do you allow your students to call you Sam and not Miss Hollis?”
“Because when I was a teenager, I hated authority figures.”
“What?” I chuckled.
“Mr., Mrs., Miss. It’s stale and too formal. I want my student to connect with me like a friend. They trust me more if I’m on their level.”
“I guess that makes sense.”
Linda walked over to our table and set our plates in front of us.
“Two patty melts with fries. Enjoy, you two. Make sure to grab plenty of napkins. I wouldn’t want you to get grease on your fine clothes, Weston.”
“Thanks for the suggestion, Linda.” I was irritated.
I reached over to the napkin holder and pulled out a couple of napkins. They were thin, flimsy, and in no way going to stop all the grease.
“They’re napkins, Wes. Why are you staring at them like that?”
“Because they’re way too thin for a place like this.”
“Ah, you’re used to high-end cloth napkins. I get it. It can be a little maddening sometimes.”
She was making fun of me.
“All I’m saying is this patty melt looks greasy, and these thin napkins aren’t going to hold up.”
“That’s why they keep the napkin holder on the table, so you can take as many as you need.” She smiled.
I reluctantly picked up one half of my patty melt and examined it.
“Just eat it.” Sam rolled her eyes.
“I’m assessing it first since I’d never had one.”
“It’s a sandwich, Wes.”
“According to you and Linda, it’s not just a sandwich.”
“Look at you.” She pulled out her phone and snapped a picture.
“What the hell, Sam?”
“I need proof of this moment. You’re already emotionally invested, and you haven’t even tasted it yet.” She grinned.
I lifted the sandwich to my mouth, took a bite, and froze.
“There it is.” Sam grinned, picking up the bottle of Ketchup.
I didn’t say a word. I just kept taking bites of my patty melt. I set the patty melt down and wiped my mouth and hands with a few napkins.
“Seriously, what is this?” I asked.
“It’s a patty melt.” She laughed.
“This is proof that rich people have been lied to their entire lives,” I said.
Linda was walking past our table with a coffee carafe and stopped. “What did you just say, Mr. Castile?”
“Listen, Linda. I’ve eaten in Michelin-starred restaurants all over the world.”
“Okay.” She nodded.
“I’ve hired chefs to prepare seven-course tasting menus.”
“Sounds incredibly expensive, but okay,” she said.
“It was very expensive. But somehow, this $12 sandwich is the best thing I’ve ever eaten.”
“Don’t forget about Mr. Avila’s cinnamon rolls.” Sam grinned.
“That too.” I pointed at her.
“Margie made that patty melt,” Linda said.
“Well, you can tell Margie, she’s a genius.”
“Will do, Mr. Castile.” Linda smiled.
I picked up my sandwich and stared at Sam. “Tomorrow, I’m bringing my CFO and best friend, Finn, here for lunch.”
“What?” She laughed. “Now you sound like a lunatic.”
“No.” I wiggled my finger. “He needs to experience this.”
“I’m happy to have opened up a whole new world for you, Weston Castile.”