What If

Chapter 26

The bus ride wasn't bad at all, except for one heavy man who happened to sit right in front of us. He smelled like burning coal and farts. Not pleasant.

I was thankful when Paul finally stood up and motioned for me to take his hand. I grabbed it, sighing gratefully, thankful to get away from the man's smell, and walked off of the bus into the accumulating snow on the sidewalk. We were in a little city-like area. There were shops and a few places to eat. There wasn't an overburden of people, but it wasn't completely deserted either.

Never letting go of my hand, Paul dragged me down the sidewalk, past a hair salon and a music shop, and then walked us into a cute little diner with floor-to-ceiling windows. He walked us over to two seats next to the windows so we could look out at the snow.

"I've only been here twice before," Paul said, rubbing his hands together, trying to warm them up from the freezing cold. "But both times have been great, so I thought 'hey, why not try it again?' Especially when I have someone to share it with." He smirked and winked at me.

I grinned, stuffing my hands in the pockets of my coat for the exact same reason. "No, I like it," I told him, looking around the restaurant. I was never one for diner food. I have never been to a diner that I've even remotely liked. They were dirty and their food was disgusting. All of it. Literally, all of it. I practically couldn't eat it. At least, that was the case in the twenty-first century. This one was already different. There was nice natural light filtering in throughout the place and the floors looked extremely clean. The smell of eggs, onions, and toast seemed to radiate in the air, smelling the entire place like breakfast. "It's actually a really pretty place."

A woman with short, red curly hair in an apron and a robin's egg blue dress came over to us with two menus. She looked about in her mid-50s and had a very friendly aura about her. "Can I start you two off with something to drink?" she asked, handing us each a menu.

Normally, I would want orange juice, but God forbid they put pulp in it. I don't like my drinks to have lumps. It wasn't worth the risk to me. "I'll have some apple juice," I answered.

"Oh, come on, Colleen," Paul protested. "Don't you want a cocktail or something? My treat."

I leaned on the table and said "I can't have cocktails. I'm not eighteen yet. But you can have a cocktail. Why not get a mimosa?"

His eyes narrowed. "Mimosa?"

"You don't know what a mimosa is?" I nearly shouted at him. I looked at the waitress and asked "Do you know what a mimosa is?"

She shook her head. "No," she said.

My mouth dropped open as I looked back and forth between the two of them. "Okay, I'll have apple juice and he'll have a mimosa, which is half champagne and half orange juice."

She wrote it down with this expression on her face like I was crazy. "Alright, I'll be back with your drinks." She left me and Paul alone to stare at each other once more.

Paul also looked at me like I was insane. "Champagne?" he asked. "You know that's not cheap, right?"

"First of all, you offered me a cocktail at your expense so you were perfectly prepared to spend that kind of money," I scolded. "Second, I'm paying for it, so don't worry about it."

He grinned and laughed and shook his head. "Don't you dare. You are my guest. I invited you out. I'm paying."

"No, you're not. I've got to pay for something. I'm gonna drive your wallet dry."

He stared at me smiling, looking right into my eyes. "I don't mind. You're worth spending every penny on."

"Really?" I asked, calling out his inconsistency. "Cause you were just complaining about expensive champagne a minute ago."