Total pages in book: 18
Estimated words: 17362 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 87(@200wpm)___ 69(@250wpm)___ 58(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 17362 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 87(@200wpm)___ 69(@250wpm)___ 58(@300wpm)
“Not wanting to deal with that sort of thing is something I can understand. It’s all complicated. Backstabby. Being on edge about everything you do.”
He nods. “My Dad wants to live vicariously through me. Do everything, he couldn’t. I’ve told him I dislike it, but it doesn't seem to dissuade him.”
“You’re an adult, aren’t you?” I say, leaning into him. “Don’t tell me I’m on a date with the most mature looking seventeen-year-old boy on the planet.”
He sips his wine. “If I was, I think I’d have to write this place up for serving alcohol to underage kids.”
“Then you’re an adult. Do what you want. Take control of your own life, or someone will take control of it for you.”
Usually, indecisiveness in a guy isn’t exactly something that attracts me. But there’s a genuineness to Elias that sticks with me. I can understand the pressures of family.
“The question I face is what do I want to do instead?”
“Well, what did you want to do growing up? Beyond, I don’t know, being an astronaut.”
“The stars weren’t what I dreamed about, thankfully. I’m not too sure, honestly. Something simpler. Something away from the loudness and chaos of the city.”
I run my finger around the edge of the wine glass. “If only there were a small town nearby. Where people lived simpler lives.”
He laughs. “That is something I’ll check out for sure. What about you, Hannah? Are you happy with where you are?”
I sink into the softness of the booth seat. “I mean, mostly? Yes?”
“Why the uncertainty?”
“Running the business is a whole lot of work. I barely have time to get out too often. And that runs into another dream of mine.”
He nods. “Your work-life balance is too heavy on the work.”
“Really hard to get out and date when you gotta be up at five in the morning, then stay at work til nine, an hour past closing, to make sure you’re prepared for the next day.”
“Do you do it all yourself? No employees?”
“I have a few but you can only delegate so much. And one of them is about to take off on maternity leave, which is more work for me, on top of making me so, so jealous.”
“Jealous of maternity leave?”
“Hey, it’s time off. Plus, you know, the whole starting a family thing. That’s pretty big.”
It felt weird to confess my familial desires to someone who I had only met a few hours ago.
“Like, I’m in my late twenties,” I tell him. “I’m not exactly short on time, but seeing everyone around me so happy and in love, it really digs at you. Makes you think, why can’t it happen to me?”
Elias looks at me. Sometime during our conversation, his arm drifted over my shoulder. His touch was the right amount of firm yet gentle, and I looked back at him. Part of me wanted to believe he’s just another pretty boy. But another feels that he is real. He is genuine.
Then, yet another part reminded me that it has been a long time since I’ve put myself out there. It's been a long time since I’ve felt a man’s touch. Running the bakery is more than a full-time job for me.
As our eyes met, and our gazes linger, and we kiss. Right in the middle of that restaurant far fancier than someone like me should be in, we embrace, not caring who sees.
When it ends, I’m grinning like a madwoman. This feels real.
The waiter comes again. We place our order. We talk for a long time—about trivial things like TV shows and movies and more about our hopes and dreams. I compare my bread to the baskets that come out.
“I can do better than this,” I say. “This is good though.”
“You think you can beat this bread? Warm, soft, fluffy, with the right amount of butter?”
I nod, chewing through another bite of it. It feels weird to be trumpeting myself while devouring what I’m trying to put down, but I guess this bread had the huge advantage of being there at that moment versus two hours of driving away back at the Sweet Stoppe.
The food comes and meets every bit of my expectations for such a highly vaunted restaurant. Perhaps not worth the prices I saw they were charging, but excellent nonetheless. The sauce on the Chicken Alfredo id just mind-bogglingly good.
Well-fed and having enjoyed one another’s company for two hours, we recline and polish off another glass of wine. Neither of us is tipsy, but the energy is light, electric.
“I guess this is where we part,” I say. “Don’t think they’ll let us be here all night.”
“They won’t. It’s assumed you won’t stay more than three hours. But it doesn’t have to be where we call it a night.”
“What, are you going to invite me to some fancy world-class bar that I’ve only heard about from social media?”