Hi Sebastian, this is Romilly. Meet me at Old Joe’s on Apple Street?
When I don’t respond right away, another message from her comes through:
Unless you’d rather reschedule because that’s totally fine with me
I quickly respond.
Me
No, that’s perfect. I’ll be there soon.
I give myself a once-over in the entryway mirror, making sure I still look irresistible. Then I tuck the Bible I snagged from Harvest Valley yesterday under my arm and grip my parents’ monetary peace offering in both hands. As tempted as I am to stock up on protein powder, get my car fixed, or start a membership at a gym for training, Ingrid’s right. No more. We don’t need their money, not a dime.
But that also means no more messing around. No more letting Ingrid carry the weight of our food budget and utilities while I sulk about my situation. It’s time for me to contribute.
I’m trusting you, God,I pray.I’m leaving everything in your hands now.
And then I tear the check to pieces.
There’s no going back now.
On the corner of a quiet brick street, across the gazebo by town hall, Old Joe’s Diner comes into view looking like it’s been pulled straight out of a postcard. Ivy trails down its striped green and white awning, and a chalkboard sign out front advertises fresh pastries and maple lavender lattes.
I find Romilly already seated among one of the mismatched tables sprinkled throughout the diner when I enter, and momentarily pause when my stomach growls, thanks to the scent of pumpkin spice, freshly-baked goods, and espresso mingling in the air with the clinking of steaming coffee mugs. I can only hope my cologne is effectively drowning out the smellof the cigarette I just smoked, because I’d hate to ruin the mouthwatering aroma drifting around this space.
I take in Romilly before she has a chance to notice me. She’s wearing a fitted beige turtle-neck that hugs every curve of her torso. The front pieces of her long, black hair are twisted back and secured behind her head. Her face is tilted down as she reads something, probably the menu.
The worn wooden floors creak beneath as I make my way over to the corner table she’s at.When a full three seconds pass without her noticing I’ve slid into the seat across hers, I frown.How could someone as beautiful as her be so unaware of her surroundings? It’s not safe.
And then she blinks like she’s been abruptly woken up from a long sleep. It’s really cute. I try not to smile and fail.
“Sebastian, you’re here. Already.”
I raise a brow. “Try not to sound so excited.”
She laughs. “Sorry. I’m just surprised. I was distracted, reading this.” She gestures to a thick, open tome which could only be her Bible.
“Ah, right. Speaking of which…” I plop mine onto the table between us. The thud makes our salt and pepper shakers rattle.
“Is that…” Her eyes scan the text on the front.Property of Harvest Valley Church.“Did you steal this from my church?”
I shrug. “You told me to bring a Bible.” I slap my hand on the cover. “Bible. Brought by me.”
“Thou shall not steal,Bash.” The words are playful, endearing. I expected her to be angry, but she even giggles.
It makes my teasing grin grow wider. “I didn’t steal it. I borrowed it.”
“You should have told me you needed one.”
“Don’t worry, they’ll get it back. I promise.”
She smiles. “I’m not worried. I’m totally kidding. They’d probably be thrilled you took it, especially since you don’t have one.”
“Oh, I have one. But it’s back in Woolahara where I’m from.”
She tilts her head sideways. “Where’s that?”
“In Australia, near Sydney.” There’s a part of me that can’t believe we’re actually seated together at this tiny café in Meadow Hills. Like before, the pull I feel toward her is impossible to ignore, and the easy conversation flowing between us makes me more comfortable than I’ve been since my parents left me in Maine. “This place is nice. I’ve never been here before.”
