The Next Best Thing

Chapter 15 (Part 2)

Mitch was checking all her boxes.

In addition to looking great and smelling fantastic, she loved the way he escorted her from the car to the fine dining restaurant he chose and to the cozy booth he requested with the lightest guiding hand at her back. He was kind to their server even as he complained on Emma's behalf about the portion of her dinner. While his steak and sides filled his whole plate, her order of agnolotti consisted of six measly envelopes of white corn, sage, and mascarpone cheese. She asked him not to say anything, but he insisted. The server was apologetic and offered to get the manager, but Mitch told him not to bother and ordered an extra plate.

"You didn't have to do that," Emma said.

"How am I supposed to steal one of yours if you only have six?"

"You took all my beer and left me one, remember?"

"I'll make it up to you," he said, like it was his every intention.

He asked about her career and she did the same. He told her about how he'd travelled as an announcer but not nearly as much as he did when he was a reporter.

"Did you like it?"

"The job, yes. The travelling, not so much. I felt like I had to choose between being clean or rested, 'cause I could never seem to be both at the same time. My ex-wife, Brenda, hated it. I gave her such a hard time for nagging me, grilling me, really, constantly about whether I was being faithful or not on the road. It would piss me off because I knew what everyone else was doing. I could have too, believe me, but I didn't. By the end of things, though, maybe I only didn't mess around to spite her so she wouldn't be right. I don't know. In hindsight, I shouldn't have been mad that she was calling my hotels all the time. I should've called her so she didn't feel she had to. But that was a hundred years ago. Have you ever been married?"

"No."

"Ever been close?"

"No. My last boyfriend was my longest relationship. Three years. I used to think of us as living together between two apartments, but the truth is he only left his toothbrush at my place, and not even in the bathroom, in a travel kit, in my nightstand drawer. But that's why I was able to travel so much with work, and I loved it. I love variety. Hotels always feel glamorous to me, even the dinky ones. It just can't be my life anymore with Gabe, and I've come to terms with that. There's lots of stuff I can do within the company. Who knows what's next."

"How'd you get started there?"

"I thought I wanted to be a hairdresser. I didn't go to school for it, but I got a job as a shampoo girl when I was eighteen. The boss used to give classes on Tuesdays and I learned pretty quickly I had no hair skills whatsoever. I just liked to talk to people. About a year in, I got called to serve jury duty on a two-month long trial. It gave me a lot of time to think about things, and when it was done, I quit the salon and went into sales."

Mitch's forehead crinkled. "Two-months? What kind of case was it?"

"Aggravated assault. A guy shot a gas station attendant in the shoulder but claimed it wasn't him even though he was caught on camera. He insisted on representing himself, which was a joke. I think he was hoping for a mistrial, but the judge had the patience of a saint and wouldn't give him one. Imagine, he called his girlfriend to the stand and said, 'Where was I on the night of the whatever-eth?' and she said, 'Shootin' that poor man at the gas station, idiot. It's on the tape!'"

"Get out of here!" Mitch scoffed.

"I swear! You can look it up."

"Well, then come over here and let's order dessert."