Excerpt
Beth noticed that the waitress appeared to be studying the pair as she handed them the menus.
“My name’s Stacy,” she said, drawing her words out. “Can I get a drink for you?”
She smiled. “I’ll have an amaretto sour, please.”
“Do you have Bud Light on tap?”
“Yes, sir, we do,” the waitress replied in that same slow, contemplative way.
“That’s what I’ll have, please.” He exchanged a glance with Beth.
The woman seemed to come out of her stupor. “I’ll be right back.”
Beth giggled. “You must get that a lot.”
“Ahh, I don’t know,” he returned, seeming a little self-conscious. “Most people wouldn’t recognize me dressed like this.”
When he hung up their coats earlier, Beth saw he was wearing a lightweight black sweater with the tan pants, and although it was quite a different look from his usual black t-shirt and ripped jeans, she was sure she would recognize him anywhere. The rocker’s sweater fit him well and accentuated his muscular chest, and once again she found herself asking how she came to be sitting across the dinner table from Chad Evans.
They looked at the menus and made small talk until the waitress returned with drinks and took their dinner order. In her wake, she left an awkward silence. For the first time, the pair was alone with no ready subject for conversation. They both took a sip of their drinks to stall for time.
“Your drink all right?”
“Good, good.” She nodded.
“Good,” he repeated, seeming at a loss as to where to go next. He exhaled with a laugh. “You know, I don’t know anything about you, other than your name is Beth, you have a daughter named Cassie, and you’re one hell of a singer.”
“Ah…well...” Again she was unnerved by the praise.
“You’re staying at this hotel, so you’re not from here. Where do you live?”
“Bloomington, Illinois.” When he stared at her blankly, she added, “It’s about halfway between here and Chicago.”
He nodded. “What’s it like?”
“Well…it’s a college town. In fact, we have the little known distinction of being the only city with a university at either end of the same street,” she threw in, remembering seeing that in a paper Cassie did for social studies.
“I see,” he replied, bemused. “And what do you do in this fair city? I mean,” he back-pedaled, “do you work outside of the home?”
“Ah, so politically correct. Yes, as a matter of fact, I’m a lunch lady.”
The singer looked for a minute like he was going to spit out his drink, but he swallowed hurriedly and laughed.
“What?” Beth retorted, pretending to be hurt. “You’ve got something against lunch ladies, I suppose?”
“No, no,” he insisted. “It’s just…you don’t look like any lunch lady I ever had.”
She took a long drink and considered his words. Was there a compliment in there somewhere?
“So how did you land this lunch lady gig?”
Now it was Beth’s turn to laugh at his choice of the word “gig.” “Well, in truth it wasn’t all that difficult. I just showed up for the interview, they told me what the hours were, how much it paid, and what it entailed, then asked me if I wanted the job. So, hearing what glamorous duties I was to have and what a fabulous paycheck I would be bringing home, I, of course, took it.” He laughed. “No, really, I love my job. I love working with kids. I can come home and take a nap every afternoon before Cas gets home from school. What’s not to like?”
“Well, when you put it that way...”
“Not to mention, sometimes I get to bring home leftover sloppy joe meat.”
“It gets better and better. Sign me up.”
“Oh yeah. ‘Cause this whole rock star thing can’t compare to the wonderful benefits I just described. Tell me the truth, it was the sloppy joe meat that really sold you, wasn’t it?”