sports-ish kind of bar with a few big screen TV’s, booths along
the walls, tables in the middle, stained glass windows, dark
hardwood, a huge bar, and pool tables on the far end. There
aren’t any darts, but that’s okay.
We pick a booth along the edge with a good view of
the pool tables. It’s not bustling in here because it’s a Tuesday
night and it’s also only nine, not really late enough to be busy
after the supper rush, but it’s busy enough. There are a few
people playing pool at four of the six tables, and a few others
scattered at booths and tables throughout. Thankfully, there is
no one cheering or yelling at the baseball games on the TV’s.
After our waitress takes our order for a beer for me and
a soda for Steph, and two orders of lemon pepper wings,
because why not try and see if they’re as good as home, Steph
said, we’re suddenly left sitting there, each waiting for the
other person to say something.
Suddenly this feels very first date-ish. Where you get
those awkward pauses because you’re worried about saying
something stupid and you’re thinking too hard and you get
totally flustered.
“What’s your favorite book?” Steph asks out of
nowhere.
“Oh, I, uh…”
“I imagine you like to read. You’re an English major.”
“You remembered that?”
“Of course!” She looks mildly offended.
“Sorry. I just didn’t know you were really listening that
hard. That’s very flattering. That you’d remember.”
“Yes. I remember.”
She smiles at me in that wonderful way she has where