The Absence of Olivia(15)
We entered the restaurant and I was pleasantly surprised to find the outside did not reflect the inside. The interior was straight-up country diner, with red checkered tablecloths and everything. Cute little salt and pepper shakers adorned each table, along with red and yellow squeezy bottles for ketchup and mustard. It was clean, adorable, and the waitress who approached us was all smiles.
“Elliot, didn’t think you’d be around after classes let out.” She was a round woman in her mid-forties, wearing a waitress uniform you’d imagine someone in a movie wearing: blue dress, white ruffled apron, and a pad of paper and pen sticking out of its pocket.
“Well, I promised Evelyn here a breakfast date before we both left town.”
The waitress, whose nametag read Marianne, turned her attention to me and said, “Lucky girl,” with what sounded like affection. She grabbed two menus and we followed her to a booth where Elliot and I sat across from each other. After we’d ordered our drinks and Marianne left us, I attempted to make small talk.
“So, why does the waitress know your name?”
He smiled and then responded. “The frat house can be a hard place to study. It gets loud and the guys aren’t always willing to quiet down so I can cram for a test.” He shrugged. “It’s just part of frat life. Anyway, this place is open twenty-four hours and they’re really cool about letting me study here, you know, as long as I order some food and stuff.”
“So, you’re here a lot.”
“You could say that. Plus, you can’t get biscuits and gravy like theirs anywhere else. In fact, I’m gonna miss this place over the summer.” He smiled again, and then laughed softly. “I’m not sure who I’m kidding; I’ll probably drive down once or twice just for the food.”
“How far away do you live?” I asked, curious about him.
“I’m about two hours north of here, in Bakersfield. What about you? Where are you headed tomorrow?”
“Liv and I are from Portsmouth, about three hours east.”
“Well, that’s good news.”
“What is?” I asked, confused.
“That you’re not getting on a plane or going somewhere really far away.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out his cell phone, typing furiously with this thumbs. Finally, he held his phone up, screen pointing at me, and I saw what looked to be a page from Google Maps. “See, look. If I take the bypass it’s only a three hour and forty-five minute drive to your town.”
My cheeks blushed at the thought of Elliot driving nearly four hours to see me. No one had ever made such an effort. “Don’t you have some girl back home waiting for you?” I couldn’t imagine someone as charming and courteous as Elliot without a band of girls vying for his attention. He gave a small cough at my question; apparently, I’d struck a nerve.
“No one’s waiting for me, no. My high school girl friend will probably be home for summer, but we haven’t been together in over two years. She’s moved on, so have I. But, we have the same friends, so I’m sure I’ll be seeing her.”
“Elliot, I was kidding. You don’t owe me any explanations.”
At my words he reached across the table and took my hand in his, gently squeezing it. “I might not owe you an explanation, but I want to give it to you anyway.” Then he shrugged and laced his fingers with mine. “Last night wasn’t just some hook up. I’ve wanted to ask you out for weeks. I totally understand if you want to just say goodbye today, and maybe see each other in the fall, but I’m kind of hoping I can see you this summer.”
I swallowed thickly, a little caught off guard by his declaration. “I’d like that.”
A gorgeous smile spread slowly across his face, his brilliantly white teeth showing, eyes sparkling. “Great,” he said confidently. I couldn’t help but smile back at him, it was impossible to resist.
The rest of our breakfast date was effortless and comfortable. We ate, laughed, shared about our families, and talked about plans for the summer. He was genuinely interested in whatever it was I had to say. He listened with rapt attention, laughing when appropriate, smiling, and nodding. Listening. Aside from Liv, I’d never felt so comfortable talking to someone.
We sat at our table for hours, Marianne never making us feel like we had to leave, even though we took up a table for the entire lunch rush. Elliot never stopped touching me. When we ate, his foot pressed up against mine under the table. When we talked, his hand was holding mine, his thumb making soft circles on the inside of my wrist. His touch slowly built a fire inside of me, and by the time we decided to leave the diner, I could hardly wait to be alone with him in the privacy of the cab of his truck.
We took a to-go order for Liv, which I still thought was incredibly sweet of him, and he helped me into the passenger side of his truck. I placed Liv’s food on the bench seat nearest my door, and scooted more toward the middle. I watched as Elliot opened his door, reaching in, grasping the steering wheel, the muscles in his forearm rippling. Then, suddenly, he was next to me. Strong biceps pressed into my shoulder. The hand that had just been gripping the wheel landed softly on my leg just above my knee.
My eyes darted to where his hand made contact, and then slowly made their way to meet his gaze.
“Thank you for breakfast,” I said, as my sight wandered to his lips.