I stand beneath the green-and-white awning, my eyes lifting to the sign: Ristorante Maestrale.
I smooth my skirt as I make my way up the stairs, weaving through the crowd gathered around the open door. The hostess standing just inside the entrance smiles and grabs a menu, starting to turn from the podium.
“Uh, there will be two,” I say with a scowl.
“Oh…” She reaches behind her and grabs another menu. “Sorry.”
I follow her through the crowded dining room to a booth at the very back of the restaurant.
"There you go. Right by the window," she says, the clinking of dishes and the lull of conversation nearly drowning out her mousy voice. I take a seat, and she places the menu in front of me before setting the other on the table. "Is there a name I should be waiting for to show them where you’ve been sat?" A slight smirk forms on her lips.
“Uh, a guy… a man. About six foot tall. Brown hair.” I shrug. I should just give her his name, but for some reason, I just don’t want to. Maybe it’s embarrassment. Or worry. I don’t want her to think I’m some slut of his. “I’m sure he’ll find me.”
She arches a brow before turning on her heel and walking off.
Just as I open the menu, my phone dings with a voicemail. The first thought that runs through my mind is that it's most likely my pathetic mother calling to beg me for more money. Rolling my eyes, I press Play, wondering whether she'll be strung out on meth or just drunk this time.
"Uh… hey, Miranda. It's… uh… Jax. Just wanted to see what you were doing. Thinking maybe dinner was in order. Call me back when you're… um… when you’re not busy."
I don't even realize I'm smiling until I catch my reflection in the window. I exit out of my voicemail and set my phone on the table, staring at it. My gaze drifts out the window in search of Edwin then back to the phone. I don't do this entire people thing—guy thing—whatever this is, so I'm not really sure whether calling him back this soon will make me look desperate or not. And besides, what am I going to say? Come hang out with me and the raging dickhead? Nope, I'll just stumble over my words. I shake my head and drop my phone inside my purse. And this is why I want to write. You don't have to know how to deal with people. Only imaginary people.
A young, acne-riddled waiter stops at the end of the table, sucking me out of my thoughts. "Would you like something to drink, ma'am?"
"Water." I look at the empty seat across from me. "I guess two waters."
"Any wine this evening?"
I shake my head, and he turns to walk away, but I stop him. "You know what? Yeah, give me a glass of chardonnay, please."
"House?"
"That's fine."
I bury my face in my palms as he walks off. This entire ordeal with Edwin is stressing me out, and the fact that Jax has, for whatever fucking reason, taken up residence in my head… so what will a glass of wine hurt?
A few moments later, the waiter returns with a large glass of wine, which I down in a matter of minutes. Every few minutes the waiter passes by, glancing at the empty seat. He brings me a second glass of wine—and a third—and still I sit alone, my fingers drumming over the white tablecloth.
The waiter stops at the table again, this time balancing a tray of dirty dishes on his arm. "You sure you don’t want to order an appetizer while you wait? Some calamari, possibly?"
"Uh, yeah. I’m sure.” I glance at the empty seat, embarrassment nearly drowning me. Where the hell is he?
I smile as the waiter walks off, and for some reason, the room starts to feel as though it’s closing in on me. The conversation grows louder. The rattle of dishes. The annoying laugh of that lady across the room. The child whining. Whining. Whining. Sweat begins to prick over my forehead, and my head is swimming from the wine. I just need to step outside for a moment. Get a breath of fresh air. Not have that damn waiter staring at me because I’m here alone and waiting like a woman who’s been stood up. I don’t want him to think I’m that girl, so I push away from the table, grabbing my phone and purse, and briskly make my way to the front and out the door.
The cold air wraps around me, loosening the tension that has been building in my muscles like a small tremor. I take a deep breath. I glance around the crowded parking lot, telling myself Edwin is roaming around looking for a parking spot. Maybe he’s been stopped by fans.
Telling myself I’m not crazy for continuing to work with him. That it will all work out in the end.
My heels tap over the pavement as I make my way back to the entrance of the restaurant. My cheeks sting from the warmth from inside. I skirt around the hostess stand, weave between the family of four blocking the opening to the dining area, and go straight to my table.