I looked at my phone and smiled at the messages I saw in my box. A few new guys wanted to say hello. I quickly scrolled through, looking to see if any were promising.
“Say, would you like to grab some real food? I’m still hungry, and I don’t really want to go home.”
“The Silver Diner is open.” I shut off my phone and looked at the clock. It was 9:00.
“Is that on King Street?”
“Yeah, past the Blue Marlin. I used to work there.”
“The Blue Marlin?”
“No, the Silver Diner. I waited tables. Tony, the owner, sort of took me in after my incredibly stupid boyfriend, Jason, stole our U-Haul and left me.”
“Stole your U-Haul?” He made a slight right at Third and King.
“Don’t ask. Not particularly a proud and shining moment of mine. Let’s just say I failed to do the proper vetting of that guy. I guess his great hair and sexy smile distracted me from what a jerk he really turned out to be.”
“Did you recover your things?”
“Nope. Some homeless person is probably wearing my favorite purple unicorn shirt, and sitting on my beanbag chair in some alley. I loved that beanbag chair.” I pushed on the dashboard. “Dad gave it to me for my sixteenth birthday.”
“Were there any valuables in there that you lost?”
I pulled back and looked at him as he put the car in park. “Did I mention the beanbag chair?”
He smiled. “No. I mean pictures, pieces of artwork, money—that sort of thing.”
“No, at least I did that right. I had all my personal, can’t-live-without-things in the backseat of my car. He unhooked the trailer and stole everything.”
“Don’t tell me, you found him on one of those sites, didn’t you? The Internet haven for felons and convicts?”
“Actually, I found him on a bench outside of where I worked in Virginia.” I put my finger on my lip. “It was strange, now thinking back, that he had no problem just packing up and leaving. In fact, almost everything in the trailer was mine.”
Sam pulled on his car door lever to get out. “I think you’re going to have to brush up on your vetting technique. As in find out their history, meet people who can vouch for them, run a credit check…you know, little things like that.” He opened the door and came around to escort me out.
I stood and was eye level with him, almost nose to nose. “Credit checks? Are you serious? Some, I’m sure, don’t have credit.” I blinked, suddenly a bit uncomfortable with how close he was to me.
He took a step back for me to move for the car door to shut. “Oh my goodness.” I grabbed my mouth. “Did you run a check on me?” Suddenly I felt offended. As if my innocent brown eyes and the fact I delivered flowers to the nursing home every month wasn’t enough to stand on its own.
He held out his hand for me to go ahead of him in the door. The bell clanged. “You don’t think I’d have you sleeping under my roof, caring for Sophie, and preparing meals, if I didn’t have you thoroughly checked out, now do you?”
I smiled at Tony, who was talking to one of his customers by the bar, and went to sit down at a clean table. “No, but I didn’t think you’d really consider me dangerous. For goodness’ sakes, I can’t even kill bugs. I scoop them up on paper and run them outside.”
He smiled. “I’m not disputing you’re an original. But, you need to look at people in a different way, Sarah. I’d hate to know anything bad had happened to you because you were too trusting.”
“I guess that’s just how I am.” I mean, look, I’m living with this guy and I really didn’t know the first thing about him. I still sort of don’t. All that got me there was a need for a roof, and a voucher from a woman I knew from a knitting group. Say what you will about knitters, but they could have a dark side. I had my doubts about Robena. Too much yarn could make a woman a little bit crazy.
I looked at Sam as he sat across from me, perusing the plastic menu, almost squinting at the words: his lips, the lines on his forehead, how there were two long ones at the top and the third was broken into two, the way he held the menu with his hand, and the scar on his left knuckle. I began to wonder whether there was something I should’ve done to find out more about him.
“Hey, Tony,” I said, as he walked up to the table.
Tony was the owner, and although he was authentically Italian, the menu couldn’t be more American: grilled cheeses, egg sandwiches, and chicken noodle soup. He even offered apple and sweet potato pies for dessert. One night when we were closing, he made me the most amazing pasta and sausage dish. I thought my eyes would permanently disappear in the back of my head. When I asked him why he didn’t serve dishes like that, he said he’d lose half his customers. I kind of agreed. The lunch crowd was mostly older people strolling in from their doctor appointments, and dinner was for the cheaper of the older crowd not wanting to pay dinner prices and arriving therefore at five minutes before four to eat corndogs and waffle fries.
“Sarah?” He shrunk down and leaned forward. “Get out! Is that really you?”
“In the flesh.” I smiled, blushing that he was making such a big deal. Oh right, I was in a dress, wasn’t I? He was used to only seeing me in a uniform—a starched white skirt and blouse with a pale-pink apron.
“Hey, hey, hey.” He winked in Sam’s direction. “You look incredible. Doesn’t she look incredible?” He tapped him on the arm.
Sam looked at me, smiling. “Yes, she indeed looks incredible.”
Hoping to move past this macho exchange of compliments and stop blushing, I asked where Colleen was, one of the evening waitresses. She was sort of a permanent fixture, just like the tin sign that hung over the register, saying “We Charge Extra for Grumpy Customers.”
“She’s in the back, talking on the phone with Eddie. He’s got her all worked up about something. I hear her raising her voice every now and then, and then some whimpering. I never go near anything that whimpers.” He rolled his eyes and hiked up his pants.
“Hmmm…” I stared toward the back room.
“So what can I get you two?”
“Wanna split a cheeseburger meal with extra fries, heavy on the cheese, heavier on the ketchup?” I looked at Sam. He seemed baffled by the laminated menu on the table.
“Sure. That sounds good.”
“Coming up.”
Sam turned around and looked at the crowd in the back. Three couples, all dressed up and wearing smiles from ear to ear. The ladies wore sensible A-line skirts with colored knit tops and the guys were all in jackets. They came every third Saturday night and drank, laughed, and danced to the old songs Tony kept in the jukebox.
“They look like they’re having fun.” He turned back around.
“They are. When I worked on their night to come in, I had such a great time with them.”
Tony came and set down two waters.
Sam took a sip. “Oh yeah? They seem like nice people.”
“They are. They reminded me of what my grandparents would’ve been like if I knew them.”
“You don’t know your grandparents?”
His phone vibrated in his jacket pocket—a noise I could detect like a service animal. Seeing as I had to have mine on vibrate all the time either at work or in class. Sam pulled his jacket open and looked at it. “You were saying?”
“Do you need to take that call?”
“No,” he replied stoically, almost with a beating temple.
“So yeah, my dad was an orphan. He graduated high school still in foster care, and when my mother died, her parents were so angry at him they never contacted us.”
“That’s ridiculous. Why were they angry? It wasn’t his fault, I’m sure.”
“Well, Aunt Heidi explained that Mom was told by doctors she shouldn’t have children, but she did anyway. So they blamed my dad, I guess.”
Sam’s lips thinned and he looked out the window. There wasn’t much to see in the blackness except for the reflection of both of us. Just a girl, barely in her th
irties, and a man, father to a child and with way more years of experience than her.
Tony wiped down the table beside us as the gang in the back poured another coin in the jukebox. Something by Sam Cooke began to play, and they shuffled around the black and white tile, white toothy grins on all their faces—even the men, who seemed like they’d be more comfortable at home in front of a television set with their hand down their pants.
“You never stop in anymore, Sarah, to tell me about how things are going with you. So, you two a couple, right? How long you been dating?” Tony asked.
I thought my eyes would pop out. I choked on the ice water that had begun to float down my throat, and covered my mouth. “No. He’s my employer. I’m his nanny. I watch his little girl.” Suddenly everything I said sounded robotic.
He quickly backed up. His sparkly smile suddenly fell twenty floors down. “What? I just…I mean…” He gestured toward our outfits. “You guys look like you could be sitting on top a cake or something.” He looked down at my dress. “All the shiny things and whatever.” His voice lowered, and he cowered behind the gray tub of dirty dishes he was holding.
“I get it. It’s just not…well, it’s just not…whatever. I’m his nanny.”
“Hmm…I see.” Tony rubbed his chin, almost in a way of not buying into it. “Well, the burger should be right up. I’ll try and get Colleen off the phone and deliver it as soon as it’s ready.”
He slipped off to the back and I stared a hole into the table. “I’m sorry for that embarrassment.”
Sam played with the corners of the menu he hadn’t placed in the silver coil yet. “I wasn’t embarrassed. Were you?”
“Uh, slightly.” My eyes searched the ceiling tiles. Tiny little holes imprinted the entire thing. I’d never noticed before. I began to talk without making eye contact. “His fries are out of this world. He makes his own ketchup, and I swear I could dip anything in them and eat it with a smile.”
I spied Sam watching the couples at the back table. “Would you like to dance?”
I looked in his direction. His stare caught me. “Um, no, that’s okay. They kind of like to dance by themselves. Really an introverted group, that one back there.”
“Come on.”
Before I could say no in five other languages he might comprehend, Sam stood and held out his hand for me to take it.
“Sam—”
“Come on, Sarah. Just one. I really like this song.”
“But I don’t know it.”
“You don’t have to know it. Come on.”
I took a deep breath and stood. He walked me back to the group and grazed my back with his hand. I felt a tiny pull and before I could throw cement on the bottom of my heels, he had me stomach to stomach with him. I might not’ve known the song, but the lady singing it was certainly Dinah Washington. I’m canceling her from all my dad’s playlists. She was like a bad penny, creeping in all night…singing about kissing and remembering.
When I got over the fact of who I was dancing with, and where I was dancing, I really found myself beginning to enjoy it. The smell of his cologne, the view of his shoulder, the security of his embrace, and the sway of his body. I think I even caught myself closing my eyes briefly. For a second, I was in another time and place.
The song ended. Those older songs tended to end too quickly. I backed up, smoothed out the front of my dress, and smiled at the couples in the small area Tony roped off as a dancefloor.
“Let’s go back and see if our food is ready. I’m hungry.” Ravenous, to be exact. I had to stuff something into my mouth so I’d stop craving to kiss someone’s lips. It really didn’t matter whose. But please—you put a nice dress on, dance close, fight a few butterflies, and your lips figure on getting smacked at the end of the day.
“Thanks for the dance.” Sam melted me with his smile and swaggered back to the table.
“Sure.” I gestured as if it were nothing off my back to sway hip-to-hip with him. No. Big. Deal. And no, I didn’t exactly imagine him turning to me and giving me that much-craved-for kiss. Talk about awkward situations.
Tony dropped off our food and asked whether we needed anything else before he started filling the salt and pepper shakers.
“I don’t think so. Is Colleen still on the phone?”
“I’m afraid she got off, and now she’s crying in the back.” He rolled his eyes. “She’s on her fifteen-minute break.” Tony went to each table and retrieved the glass shakers.
Sam put his hand on his hip. “That’s crazy he’s just letting her sit back there. Personal feelings need to be kept for personal time.” Sam spoke low after Tony left the table with our order.
“Sometimes personal things can’t wait, Sam.”
“Personal things can always wait, Sarah. This is a business. She’s at her job.”
“Great, that’s what I’m putting on your profile then—‘all business.’ Although you might not get too many responses. Who knows? You might get some.” I shrugged.
“What profile?”
“I’m making you a page on Match.com.”
“What’s a Match.com?”
I grabbed my phone from my purse and showed him the app. My profile was pulled up. “It’s a dating website.”
He snatched it from me. “Tell me you’re not. No, you’re not really advertising yourself, are you, Sarah? Come on.” His head flipped back. “No, you’re not this kind of girl.”
“Sam, you make it sound like I’m soliciting myself to be a call girl or something. It’s legit, I assure you. And I’m putting you on it.” I stretched across the table to grab back my phone.
“This is not the way, Sarah.”
“And what is the way, Sam? I know, maybe I can hang out at the soda fountain on Saturday nights and hope Ricky or Dean will cruise by in their Thunderbirds and ask me out for a milkshake. If I’m lucky, they’ll want to go to Inspiration Point and neck a little bit.” I rolled my eyes and flipped my hair. “This is the new age, Sam. You know, computers and hand-held gadgets.”
“I don’t live in a cave, Sarah. I’m aware of these barbaric sites. I’m sure everyone is so truthful, too. Why don’t you just barhop until you find the gentleman of your dreams?” He leaned in. “Tell me, how many dates have led you to your Prince Charming? Or do you show up, and find out that employed means getting an allowance from dear ol’Mom, who lives at the top of the stairs in the house they grew up in? Or, I know.” He slapped the table. “How many are already married and just ‘forget’ to list it. Suddenly they can’t go out on Friday night because they promised to do a cookout with their family. But you don’t know that fun fact, so you wait until Saturday between the hours of two and three, because that’s when their wives go out to get their nails done or something.”
“Cynical, aren’t you? Yes, I will admit, there are a few who stretch the truth, but don’t we all? Aren’t we all a little broken, but hope our cracks don’t show like neon signs?”
“Yes, but this isn’t the way to do it. Any guy…any legitimate guy will find you stunning, charming, amazing, and never want to let you go. These guys on these sites are desperate.”
“Geez, so I won’t sign you up. Seeing as you have such a high opinion of yourself. There are nice guys out there, Sam. I’ve met one or two.”
“Let me see what you’ve written for yourself, shall I?” He took my phone again and squinted to see the screen.
“Need your bifocals to see it?”
“No, thank you.” He squinted at me, not in a nice way.
“Loves the outdoors, adventures, hiking, boating, fishing, kayaking, bungee jumping, and skydiving. Makes a mean beef Wellington, and dances in the rain. Loves sports, vintage cars, and travel. Message me with serious inquiries.” He looked at me. “Really?”
“I know. I second-thought the ‘serious inquiries’ part. It sounded a little like I was selling my car. Guys tend to go lame when the word serious is mentioned, but I don’t want a game player. I’m tired of prancing ar
ound, going on dates that don’t yield anything. Now give me my phone, please.” I reached out to take it.
“Vintage cars? Sports?”
“Yes.”
“Tell me, what make and model do you prefer? Do you make it to the car show in Raleigh in September?”
“Be quiet.”
“Is any of it true? So far, I’m taken aback by all the skydiving stories you’ve shared with me and Soph. It sounds like you’re the one playing games.”
I laid my phone on the table and grabbed another salty fry from the heap. Dragging it through the ketchup, I continued. “I’m putting things on there that appeal to guys. Anyway, I can mold very easily. If they wanted to bungee jump…well, I…well, I would.” I took a deep breath and popped the fry in my mouth, trying not to let any ketchup fall off.
“What’s wrong with meeting a guy at the grocery store, and going to dinner, then maybe to a movie? And being honest with him?” He kept an eye on me while he took a bite of his half of the triple thick burger. I watched as the pink tomato squeezed out from the bun.
Before I could answer, Colleen busted out from the back, wiping her face with the back of her hand. She was still jerking a little from crying. When her eyes found mine, she ran toward the table. Specifically, me, and she buried her head in my shoulder. I cradled her and let her cry.
Sam’s eyes grew wide and he grabbed for his phone tucked inside his jacket pocket. “I’ve got to take this. I’ll be only a minute.” He wiped his mouth with a napkin.
“Colleen, I heard you were upset. What’s going on with Eddie?”
Eddie was the busboy who worked lunch shift for Tony. Cute guy with dimples and hair you just wanted to run your fingers through. When he wasn’t bussing tables, he was writing song lyrics. I found them tucked everywhere when I worked: tiny four-inch square napkins, smeared with words—underneath counters, in the lettuce fridge… It was his dream to be big someday, writing songs for the big celebrities.
“Sarah, he’s not coming back. He said they want him to write lyrics in Tennessee. As in live there full-time. I don’t know why he can’t just email them or something. People use the computer to do that sort of thing, don’t they?” Her curly hair sprung over her forehead and water dripped from her nose. I handed her a clean napkin from the table.
Searching For Sarah (The Sarah Series Book 1) Page 8
