Dear Life(51)

Casually, he drapes his arms across the back of his booth, finally starting to relax. Maybe the whole Buzz Lightyear thing was a smart move on my end even though I can feel my cheeks blushing from the whole interaction.

“Fair enough.” He gestures at the menu. “Are you going to get a drink?”

“Like an alcoholic one?”

Slowly he nods his head while biting his lower lip and studying me. “Yeah, an alcoholic beverage. You’re of age, and I think it’s time to take another step toward your goal, don’t you think?”

I’ve already taken a big step by flipping my wardrobe and style upside down, isn’t that enough for today?

By the look on his face and the way his teeth nibble on his lower lip, I think maybe I can take one more big girl step.

“Okay, hand me the drink menu?”

“Really?” Carter asks in surprise, as if he really didn’t think I was going to have a drink.

“Yeah, really. Hand it over.”

Resigned, he opens up the drink menu and pushes it in my direction. “You might want to stick to this section.” He points to the cocktails right above the beers.

There are so many options, and oh boy, they are pricey, at least I think they are for a drink. I don’t really have anything to compare it to. Whispering, I glance up at Carter and say, “Ten dollars for a drink? Is that normal?”

Smiling wickedly, he nods his head. “Yeah, Snowflake, that’s normal.”

“Goodness, it better be a good drink.” Looking over the menu, I can’t decide. “Moscow Mule, that seems interesting. I’ve never seen a copper cup before.”

“You won’t like it,” he states bluntly.

“How do you know? It might be my favorite drink.”

“It’s not.” He folds his arms over his chest, so sure of himself.

“How can you say that? You don’t know my taste buds.”

“Snowflake, I’ve watched you gag meeting after meeting at Dear Life from the coffee they serve. If you can’t handle coffee, you’re not going to be able to handle a Moscow Mule.”

“Fine,” I concede. “But for the record, that coffee tastes like sludge.”

“I’m not going to argue with you about that.”

“What about Breaking Bad. That seems delightful.”

Smiling, he takes the menu from me and puts it back behind the salt and pepper shakers. “Now that’s more like it.”

Eeep, why does that smile make me feel tingly all over?

After we both decide on getting the house-made chicken pot pie, something they are famous for, we wait for the waiter to bring our drinks.

“This is exiting, my first drink ever. Who knows, maybe by tomorrow I’ll be doing shots.”

Carter’s brow crinkles. “You won’t be doing shots.”

“I might,” I counter. “I don’t have a job. Maybe I’ll start doing shots in the afternoon just for the heck of it.”

“If you’re someone who uses the term ‘for the heck of it,’ I’m pretty sure you won’t be going on any afternoon shot binging.”

“Well, now I have to prove you wrong.”

“Go ahead,” Carter challenges me. “And be sure to call me after your first shot, I’m sure you’ll be singing songs of regret into the phone.”

I hate to admit that he’s probably right. Just the mere thought of doing a shot has my stomach quivering.

“Fine, I won’t do any shots. But I could if I wanted to.”

“You could.” He pauses and asks, “Do you want a job?”

Having a job never really crossed my mind when I was with Grams because my job back then was taking care of her. Now that I don’t have her to watch over, I’m having a hard time figuring out what I want to do for a living.

Answering Carter’s question, I say, “I do want a job. I’m not quite sure what it’s going to be though. I have some money from my dad to live on right now while I figure it out.”

“Let’s figure it out.” Leaning forward, his arms propped on the table, he asks, “What interests you?”

“Oh gosh, I love crafts, and making people smile, and watching musicals.”

“Okay,” Carter drags out. “Not quite what I was looking for. What about baking? You could always do something along the lines of baking.”

“Oh, that would be a dream. Baking for a living, what a wonderful job that would be.”

“One Upslope and a Breaking Bad for the lady,” the waiter says, handing us our drinks.

I stare down at the colorful concoction with an orange peel floating inside and get nervous. With one sip will I feel drunk? How does this really work?

“Are you ready?”

“I think so. My first drink.” I pull my phone out of my purse and hand it to Carter. “Will you take a picture of me with my first drink?”

“Why am I not surprised by this request?” he asks sarcastically.

I hold my drink up with both hands and smile brightly. Carter stares at me for a few heartbeats before holding the phone up and taking a picture. His expression is so intense.

Shaking his head slightly, as if he’s trying to forget something, he holds his beer up to me and says, “Cheers, Snowflake. Here’s to your first drink.”