“Oh. It’s …” I shove my phone back into my pocket. “Just my ma checkin’ …” There it is. “My … mother checking … up on me.”
“Right. I heard how you guys are in Spruce. I’ve never been.”
I quirk an eyebrow. “How we are …?”
“You’re so … family-oriented,” clarifies Malcolm. “Everyone in Spruce keeps connected with their families. Mothers and fathers and uncles and aunts and siblings, they all know your business.”
I make myself chuckle. “I guess there’s no denying that. It’s a restless town. Everyone’s up in everything.”
“So how many people know we’re on this date right now?”
With his flat, dry affect, it’s difficult to say whether I’m being mocked right now, or if he’s genuinely curious.
I clear my throat before answering. “I’d say just a small little tiny handful.” Small little tiny handful? “My ma. My pa. My best friend Jimmy and his mother, obviously.”
“And my father, who obviously knows Nadine,” Malcolm adds, “since he’s the executive chef here.”
My heart stops.
I stare at him.
“W-Wait a second.” I lean forward and bring down my voice. “You’re Malcolm … Tucci …? Chef Mario Tucci’s son?”
“Yes.”
“Oh, wow,” I nearly sing, unable to close my mouth. “Wow. I didn’t …” Shut your jaw before you swallow the candle on your table. I do. Shut my jaw, that is, not swallow the candle. “I did not know Chef Mario had a son.”
“And a daughter, too,” Malcolm points out. “My sister Aurora. But she lives in Maine going to school for zoology, so …”
“Oh, I like animals!” I smile cheerily.
“I don’t. They make me sneeze.” He goes for his water again.
I bite my lip, then nod. “Sure, they have lots of …” Um. “… fur. Hair. Whiskers. Sneezy things.”
I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that Nadine set me up on a date with someone so uppity and important as her executive chef’s son, who I didn’t know was gay—or existed at all.
It shouldn’t change anything, but suddenly I feel like I’m on a date with some kind of prince. A culinary master’s offspring. A boy who was born with privilege.
He flicks at his cheek again, then goes for yet another sip.
The prince is thirsty.
I peer down at my pocket while I bring my hands to the table and start tapping my fingers on its edge. Jimmy hasn’t texted again. I know because otherwise I would’ve felt it.
I stop tapping my fingers at once.
Oh. Is that the thing I do with my hands? Is that what he meant?
The server comes by, and our orders are taken. And just as I predicted, I suddenly have to fumble with the menu and endure the stress of making a hasty choice of what I’ll be eating. With a muted thank-you, the server departs, and Malcolm and I return to glancing awkwardly at each other over the table.
“So have you—” I start.
“Why haven’t you—” he starts at the same time.
I chuckle. “Sorry. You first.”
“I was going to ask why you haven’t found a boyfriend at college yet. Or in Spruce. Do you not go on dates?”
“I … well, it’s …” Way to put me on the spot. “There aren’t very many options in Spruce,” I finally settle with. “And I haven’t really found anyone I want to pursue a relationship with on campus.”
“So why are we here tonight?”
I don’t know if he realizes how bluntly he comes off, or if that is just one of his “endearing traits” that people around him have to put up with. If what I’ve heard about Mario Tucci is true, then the rest of the family may likely be as brusque and curt as he is.
“Because Nadine set us up?” I reluctantly offer for an answer.
Strangely, he accepts my honesty at once. “Fair enough,” he states, then goes for another precise sip of water.
I catch sight of someone coming in from the other side of the room, far behind Malcolm. Someone who has a limp and is way too underdressed to be in a place like this. He’s wearing a skintight pair of Wranglers, a t-shirt, a threadbare red cap, a—
Oh.
My eyes flash wide.
What the hell is he doing here? Why did he come inside?
“So do you have a job?” asks Malcolm.
Jimmy spots me. Like a stealthy cat, he slips onto the chair of an empty table by the wall in the corner, far behind Malcolm so that I’m the only one in his view. He picks up a menu to shield half his face, then proceeds to peer over its top, watching us.
I force my eyes back onto my date. “Yes. A summer job at the, uh …” Jimmy’s sneak entrance rattled me. “I have a summer job at the movie theater. At Juice Cinema 6. I mean 5. I mean Spruce.”
“I’m a coffee barista, also a summer job. It’s humiliating.”
“Humiliating? To work? Why?” My eyes steal a quick glance at Jimmy, who’s still hiding ridiculously behind that menu.