Page 20 of Just A Date


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How do they get the salt in through those tiny holes?

Oh duh, the top must come off. I twist the lid and salt spillsover the table. Shoot, I’ve got to clean up this mess before she gets here.

Hopefully, I have enough time. I tip back to check the front door again.

The snapping noise doesn’t register in my brain until my body experiences an almost dream-like falling sensation.

I’m readily aware this is no dream, and reality is only affirmed when my chair and body crash to the floor, my head bouncing off the tile. The wooden spindles jab into my back and there’s another snap.

I hope that’s the chair.

I gasp for air at the same time someone gasps above me.

Don’t let it be—

“MichaelB22?”

Juliet.

I can’t tell if it’s a question or a hope I’ll deny her worst fear. Lucky for me, I can’t respond right now even though I want to.

“Sir, are you okay?” A waiter rushes to me. It takes me a moment to recover, but with his help, I manage to stand.

“What happened?” he asks.

Do I tell the truth and look like a complete idiot?

“There was…” I choke out a breath. “…a cat.” I point to the pile of salt on the table as if it will provide further evidence.

Or I can blame a cat like an even bigger idiot.

Come on, Michael.

“A cat?” The waiter’s eyes go wide and frantic. “Are you sure?”

“Pretty sure.” My voice cracks.

“Where did it go?”

“Uh.” I hook a thumb behind me.

“The kitchen? Maybe it will catch the mice,” he says. I think he’s joking, but the worried glances he keeps shooting toward the kitchen aren’t comforting.

“I’d better go check,” he says and sprints away. Only when he’s gone do I risk my first real look at Juliet.

If I hadn’t fallen out of my chair before she came, I would have after. She’s stunning. But we don’t have long before the waiter returnsto inform us they are fresh out of cats in the kitchen, and we will have to settle for mice.

“Umm.” I rub the sore spot on the back of my head. “I’m thinking we should eat anywhere but here.”

“Agreed.” She nods. It’s a race to see who can get out of the restaurant first, although I’m willing to bet Juliet is running from the possible mice infestation while I’m running from the lie.

We are halfway down the block, in no particular direction, before we finally slow down.

I’m debating how to apologize for my ineptness when she speaks up. “There was no cat, was there?”

I let out my first full breath in five minutes. “No.” I scrub a hand down my face. “Just an average-sized idiot.”

She laughs, and the sound that springs forth out of her is fresh cinnamon rolls on Christmas morning, hot chocolate on a cold night. It’s beautiful. And so is she.