“I’m just . . . worried that I won’t be able to do the job. And I guess I’m also worried about the danger involved.”
“The danger is very minimal, I promise. I wouldn’t want you working there if I thought it was something to worry about.”
The way he says it makes me curious, as if he has some sort of personal responsibility toward me. “What do you mean?”
He shrugs and leans back against his seat, suddenly acting casual again. “You’re a single mom. You can’t afford to take risks that other people could, so I wouldn’t want you to work somewhere that wasn’t right for you.”
I love that he gets me. It’s like he’s validated my feelings or something. “And you think Bourbon Street Boys is right for me?”
He nods. “I do.”
We could probably talk about this subject all night, but our fried catfish shows up along with some hushpuppies and a pile of coleslaw, and the next twenty minutes are spent diving in and enjoying every last morsel of food that Dev was absolutely right about.
Truth be told, I am not the biggest catfish fan in the world, but the serving of it I’m indulging in here could easily change my mind on that. The batter is crunchy yet flaky, and the catfish itself, tender and fresh. It doesn’t even taste like fish.
Dev takes a long pull from his sweet tea, and then sits back in his chair, letting out a long sigh as he rubs his belly. “Did I tell you this was great or what?”
I wipe the grease from my lips with my paper napkin and put it on the table next to my empty fish basket, leaning back in my seat too. I hope he doesn’t expect me to eat dessert, because I don’t have any room left.
“Yes, this was really great. Thank you so much for bringing me here.” I look around the restaurant and see a lot of happy faces. “How did you find this place?”
“I’ve been coming here since I was a kid. Everyone on the team has. They treat us well here, and we like to support them as much as we can.”
Melba comes over and takes our baskets away, interrupting the conversation. Once she’s gone, my eyes drop to the table. Holy crap. The only things left are two placemats, mine and Dev’s. His looks brand new, but mine, on the other hand, is covered in a sample of every bit of food that passed through my lips. Fish? Yes. Fish coating? Yes. Hushpuppy guts? Yes. Coleslaw? Of course. It’s like a Chicken Licken bomb went off at our table, but only left shrapnel in front of me. How embarrassing! Now he knows I eat like a total warthog!
Dev doesn’t say a word. Instead, he lifts his placemat up, reaches over and slides my placemat to his side of the table, and then places his down in front of me. Now he’s the warthog, and I’m the princess who wouldn’t dare drop a speck of hushpuppy anywhere but on her napkin.
I know it’s crazy, but tears well up in my eyes. This has to be the single most chivalrous, charming thing a man has ever done for me. Forget opening doors and throwing jackets over puddles. When a man covers for me, taking the heat for my horrible table manners, he wins my loyalty for life.
When Melba returns with sweet tea refills, she looks down at the table and smiles. She doesn’t need to say anything; she just looks at me and winks. My heart feels like it’s filling up so full with happiness that it’s going to explode.
“You got a costume yet?” she asks Dev.
“Maybe. I might have found my inspiration tonight.” He gives me a look. I almost have a heart attack from it. Gah, that dimple!
“Have you seen the pictures?” she asks me.
I shake my head no.
She points at Dev. “You need to show her. You need to work harder at impressing this girl. I like her.”
She walks away without saying anything else, and I look down at the table, embarrassed that I’ve been given such a high compliment.
“Do you have ideas for your kids’ costumes yet?” Dev asks me.
“No, I still need to go to the store. My life is a mess.” I sigh, imagining myself once again shopping for crappy costumes my kids will whine about. “I’m always scrambling around at the last minute trying to pull it all together.”
“If you need any help, just let me know.”
I’m not sure how that would work out, but I like the idea of him being involved in my Halloween celebration. “Okay. Thanks.”
“Do you usually trick-or-treat around your neighborhood?”
I nod. “Yeah, it’s pretty good. We hardly have any apple-givers.”
He smiles briefly before continuing. “Mine’s not the greatest. Jacob is always complaining that so many of the lights are turned out, it eats up all his battery in his wheelchair trying to get around the neighborhood and get enough candy.”
I feel shy saying it, but it seems like the perfect solution to me. “You guys could come and trick-or-treat with us if you want. Almost all the lights are on every year. Jacob could clean up with an awesome crocodile costume.”