Pebbles: A Collection of Short Stories

Comfort Food

"You," slivered from my lips.

"Me," his voice bounced like an excited child.

"That seat is taken!" I shot as he sat down across from me. "Don't you dare sit there!"

"What shouldn't I do next?" He mischievously smiled to a dizzying effect. "Should I not sip this water?" He took a ginger sip from the glass before him. "Should I not review the menu?" He picked it up and cracked it open. "I should definitely not consider the Caesar salad. That's sincere. The Caesar salad is terrible here; dry with too much anchovy for anyone's palate."

"Do you know who I am?" I stammered.

"You own the charming little café around the corner," he mused.

"Charming little café? You... you..."

"Tom Phelps," he added as his head tipped to the second page of the menu.

"You signed off your review with 'there'll be more casualties to the pandemic; let's see if Finley's Café is next.' You wished closure on me."

"Did I or did I just place two facts next to each other and you connected them?" His deep brown eyes flickered to mine as heat began to stir in me. "My job is to critique restaurants. I taste the food, judge the atmosphere, and assess the business model. I made a call."

"And that call was that my heart and soul will fail?" I shot, trying to stamp down the sparks that stung every time our eyes met. "And now you're expecting to have a meal... on Valentine's day?"

"You understand what a blind date is? Or did you miss that when you missed business 101?" His head cocked as though he were curious about the answer.

"Yes, I understand what a blind date is, but how Jill and Ryan thought that you'd be a fit for me."

"You're still here. You didn't run away," he noted as he dropped his eyes back to the menu. "And I bet you don't order the Caesar salad."

"What was so terrible with my café that you'd wish failure?"

"Again, I didn't wish it to fail. I simply connect two ideas. As for your restaurant, it was fine."

"Fine, it was fine?"

"Yes, the food was tasty. The place I'd see myself visiting on a bitter November day when I miss my mother and want to feel loved. But you know what people don't pay for; the comfort part of comfort food."

"It's an experience."

"When I was in your restaurant, you gave away more bowls of soup than you sold. You'll never make a profit, and eventually, you'll drown in debt."

"People deserve food, good food; food that makes them feel loved. If I sell enough bowls of comfort to keep the lights on and give the rest away to people that need it, then I'm successful." He was terrible and alluring. 

"Perhaps," he nodded without lifting his gaze from the menu.

"May I take your order?" The server smiled down at us.

"I'll have the Caesar salad," I smiled.