Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 82829 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 414(@200wpm)___ 331(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82829 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 414(@200wpm)___ 331(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
There’s an unfamiliar tingle beneath my skin while working, the hours counting down much too slowly, edging me toward nine. I’m not sure giddy is the right word—I would never describe myself as giddy in any situation in my whole life—but it’s the closest one I can think of. It’s…odd, and I’m not sure how I feel about it, especially when I consider the age difference. I’ve never played with someone fifteen years younger. It’s not something I intended or have really thought much about, but my tastes have always veered toward men close to my age. What could I possibly have in common with a twenty-five-year-old?
“Thank you, Sir, for giving me an escape and helping me be myself.”
Well, other than that.
I finish out my workday. Just as I’m leaving my office, Burt, a coworker, waves me over. “A few of us are going out for dinner tonight if you want to come. Some spouses will be meeting up with us, so if you’d like, feel free to bring the wife.”
That says how much my coworkers and I have gotten to know each other since I’ve moved here. A little voice in the back of my head tells me I should go with them, that if I plan to make friends here again, this is a good way, but even before I speak, I know what my answer will be. “No wife, and I’ll have to take a rain check. Thank you, though.”
“No problem,” Burt replies. “Definitely next time.” He continues down the hallway, and I go for the elevators, getting off at the parking garage. My car is waiting in my assigned spot, and now that I’m in it, I realize I don’t want to go home.
I pull out of the spot but don’t head toward my house. Instead, I find myself going to Black Salt. I’ve never been, but I’ve heard the food is good. With it being a Monday, I should be able to get in without a reservation. Ever since the barbecue on Saturday, I’ve been wondering how JT is. Maybe he’ll be there.
Black Salt is in a well-populated area of North Hills, where people sit outside on the patio, drink cocktails, eat, and watch foot traffic go by. People shop and dine in North Hills, go on their evening walks, and on a Friday or Saturday night, it’s insanely busy.
A couple is walking out just as I reach the door, and the gentleman holds it open for me. “Thank you,” I say, slipping inside. Most tables are full, but from the look of it, I chose a good night to come. They aren’t packed.
The hostess greets me and smiles. “Just one?”
“Yeah. A friend of the family works here. I’m not sure if he’s on shift tonight.”
“What’s his name?”
“JT.”
“Yes! He’s here. I’ll put you in his section.”
She leads me through the restaurant, which has black tables and chairs and white tablecloths. There’s a bar along the right side, bottles decoratively displayed on the walls.
“How’s this?” she asks.
“Perfect. Thank you.”
The menu is waiting on the table, and just as I pull it open, I hear “Good evening” and look up to see JT. “Whoa. Hey, Marsh. This is a surprise.”
“I wanted to check out the place. You’ve raved about it, so I figured it had to be good.”
His brows pinch together slightly, small nose wrinkling in the way it’s done since he was a child. “That’s…really cool of you.”
I feel a sting of sadness that maybe John and Callie haven’t come here. They’re not the type to ever do that to hurt JT, but I don’t think they see this as being important to him either.
“Of course. Always. So what do you recommend?”
His dark-blue eyes, almost like cobalt, light up. “That’s one of my favorite questions! I know smoked salmon doesn’t sound incredibly exciting, but it’s to die for. The rosemary potatoes that come with it taste better than any I’ve ever had. You wouldn’t think you could make them something special, but I promise we can. Oh, and if you’re not in the mood for seafood…”
I listen while JT goes into detail about four other items on the menu. It’s clearly something he’s passionate about, and while he’s talked about enjoying his job while at home and to his parents, he didn’t speak with the current glee. I don’t know what it is about the industry that has hooked him, but I can see it’s true. JT doesn’t just work here because it’s a job—he works here because he truly enjoys it.
“You sold me on the salmon.” I close the menu. “Just water to drink, please.”
“Great. Coming right up and…thanks again for stopping by, Marsh. I really appreciate it.”
“No problem.”
He grins, then disappears into the kitchen.
JT comes back a few minutes later with my water but doesn’t linger. He has a new table, and he heads over to take their order. I can’t help watching him for a moment. He speaks to the three people, the group of them laughing at something he says. His arms are moving around while he talks, and they eat up every word. He’s good with them, and obviously the customers like him.