Back to the Good Fortune Diner (17 page)

“So, where is this place we’re going?” she asked.

“It’s a new restaurant, actually,” he said. “A buffet.”

Scratch that romantic candlelit dinner,
she thought despondently.

“I hope you don’t mind, but I know you like having choices.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It’s something I noticed about you—how you like to give everyone around you choices.” He grinned. “I still remember how back in high school you used to talk about how much better Starbucks was compared to the old coffee shop that used to be on Main Street because of the way you could customize everything. Remember that argument we had? It was right after one of those university tours you went on in New York.”

His memory for these little details was supernatural, she thought, turning the AC vent to blow directly into her hot face.

Fifteen minutes later, they pulled into a big shopping plaza on the edge of the county that housed a big-box hardware store, a few outlet shops and a handful of restaurants. The parking lot was quite full, with most of the cars clustered near a newer-looking establishment. Tiffany’s heart sank.

The restaurant was called Eastern Delights, and the sign touted Over 300 Items for the Low, Low Price of $14.99 Per Person.

“This place got great reviews,” Chris said as he guided her toward the door. She doubted Zagat or Michelin was giving those ratings, but she kept her smile fixed. “I’ve been meaning to try it, but Dad cooks all the meals, and I don’t get out of eating them often.”

It was the least intimate setting Tiffany could possibly imagine for a date. Throngs of noisy, hungry patrons circled the long steam counters like pilot fish around a stainless-steel whale. Children high on unlimited ice cream chased each other, zigzagging through tables and dodging waiters who gathered plates, some still full of uneaten food. Considering Chris’s rants as a teen about the obesity epidemic, she was surprised this was where he’d chosen to eat.

Perusing the steam tables, she couldn’t help comparing the food to what the Good Fortune served. The sweet-and-sour pork looked heavily breaded, the sauce thin; the vegetables in black-bean sauce looked pale and flaccid instead of crispy. She cringed at the pools of oil sitting on the bottom of the trays of spring rolls. Making up for the marked difference in quality was the fact that the buffet did have a wide variety of dishes, many of them “authentic” even if they looked unappetizing. An assortment of international foods rounded out the menu, including a sushi bar, a pasta station and an array of North American classics like pizza and baked potatoes.

Tiffany went to the salad bar, loading up on cocktail shrimp, beets, bean salad and coleslaw. In the corner, she spotted a man carving up a huge slab of roast beef, and made a beeline for the station.

When she returned to the table, a waiter had delivered the bottle of wine Chris had ordered. She looked at Chris’s plate as he sat and found rice, noodles, stir-fried vegetables, hoisin beef, stewed shiitake mushrooms and pieces of roast duck all piled on his plate. She looked at her own mounds of mashed potatoes and gravy, brussels sprouts, rare roast beef with horseradish, and her salad bar selections. She laughed. “Should we trade meals?” she asked wryly.

He looked at their plates and chuckled. “I think I chose the right place to eat. Though, if you’d had a hankering for beef, I could’ve barbecued a steak at home.”

“And if you’d wanted Chinese, we could’ve gone to my parents’,” she shot back.

“Ah, but I bet they can’t grill a porterhouse like I can. I make a mean gravy, too.”

“Careful, or I’ll have to invite myself over one day so you can prove it.”

“Challenge accepted.” He winked.

Had she actually managed to flirt? Her head spun, and she took a bracing gulp of the bold Shiraz. It sent a pleasant warmth through her bones.

Even though there was a fork, knife and spoon on his place mat, Chris extracted the disposable chopsticks from the paper wrapper and without fumbling or fuss, expertly picked up a piece of beef and ate it.

“You have perfect chopstick form,” she marveled.

He glanced at his chopstick hand and shrugged, sheepish. “It’s all the chicken balls I buy for Simon. You should see him. He can use them with both his left and right hands.”

They ate in silence. Tiffany struggled not to simply stuff her face the way she usually did. She wanted to prove to herself she could have a polite, adult conversation with her old crush. Now was the perfect time to employ her list of conversational cues. “Speaking of Simon—”

“Did you know shiitake mushrooms have been cultivated for over a thousand years?” Chris said at the same time. He held out the slimy-looking sauce-covered black fungus toward her.

She looked between the man and the mushroom, blinking. “I...did not know that.”

“I’ve been doing research into new crops. They’re getting quite popular with a lot of restaurants.” He bit into the mushroom. His eyes bulged, and his chewing slowed. “Now I’m not sure why,” he said as he swallowed, then sipped his wine liberally.

She smiled. He probably hadn’t been prepared for the strong woody flavor of the shiitake.

“I saw the Shanghai bok choy in your display at the grocery store. Are you trying to get into the Asian vegetable market?”

“There’s a huge demand for bok choy, and it’s a crop with a long growing season and a big yield—a lot of chefs like to use it as a side dish instead of the usual frozen vegetable medley.”

She’d noticed that even in fancy restaurants in the city. “Daniel mentioned something about you starting the 100-mile program, as well.”

“It was mostly to raise awareness and cultivate business contacts,” he admitted as he attacked his noodles with aplomb. “I wanted to get people eating locally grown stuff instead of going for the cheapest imports all the time. But I couldn’t get everyone fully on board, considering things like coffee and sugar can’t be produced here. Folks aren’t likely to give up their daily joe, and I didn’t want to put any of the restaurants or cafés out of business. The point was made, though, and all things considered, it’s working pretty well.”

“That’s cool.” Which was an understatement. It was amazing he’d moved the town to do anything. Everville hadn’t grown or changed in the years she’d lived there. They went through the same cycle of fairs and festivals every year, never got new businesses in, didn’t build anything new. The town had gone stagnant, and no one was moving in.

Chris explained, “Ever since Bob Fordingham left the mayor’s office and his cronies started retiring, we’ve seen a lot more progress. The new mayor, Cheyenne Welks, is finally putting the city’s money to good use, replacing the old water mains, tearing down the eyesores and building new infrastructure and housing. That’s why you’re seeing so many new businesses popping up along Main Street. The new members on council are really receptive of any ideas, too.”

“You sound like you could run for mayor yourself.”

He laughed. “I wouldn’t have the time, though I’ve served on a couple of environmental committees. There’s only so much I can do, but you know what Ghandi says. ‘Be the change you want to see.’ Converting the farm to a certified organic one was my first big project, and that was tough. But once we got on our feet, I started lobbying for greener energy alternatives in the area. The wind turbines went up a couple of years ago, but they’re only part of a test project. It’ll be a long time before we get a full wind farm, and that’s going to take a lot more lobbying. I’d like to get the town to look into municipal composting, too, but no one really wants to pay more taxes for waste diversion.”

She couldn’t stop the smile breaking on her face. Chris was still trying to save the world. The intellectual she’d admired was still there, hiding beneath all those muscled layers of farmer.

“I’m finished bragging now,” he joked. “Nothing I’ve done can be half as interesting as what you’ve been up to. Tell me about your life in New York. What happened to you in college and afterward?”

She shifted in her seat and played with her mashed potatoes. “What’s there to tell? I went to school, got a degree, got a job.”

He chuckled. “There’s gotta be more to it than that. I want to know more about you. You barely talk about yourself. I know more about your brother than I do you, and considering how much time we spent together in high school, I feel like I should know you better.”

Her heart thumped hard and she took another gulp of her wine.

He’s not actually interested in you. He’s just making conversation.

Not that it would hurt to oblige him. She blew out a breath, searching for those elusive details that would make her story more interesting. “Well, I guess the first thing you should know, then, is that I applied to NYU for an English degree against my parents’ wishes. I told them I was applying for premed.”

He cocked an eyebrow. “I could have sworn I saw you fill out applications for premed.”

“I did. But I never sent them in.”

He grinned. “Rebel.”

“That wasn’t the word my parents used,” she said, and sipped. “When I got accepted and told them, they flipped out. But they couldn’t stop me from leaving because I’d received a full scholarship, so they wouldn’t have to pay a cent. They almost didn’t come to our grad ceremony.”

She didn’t mention they hadn’t bothered to make it to her college graduation.

“So, you worked your ass off and got a full scholarship, but they weren’t happy?” Chris looked disturbed. “I’m starting to see your parents in a new light.”

“Don’t. I mean, I did lie to them, after all. I had to. They got over it eventually. Mostly.” She chuckled without humor. “I think grad’s one of those moments parents look forward to for seventeen years, that day they can stand up and cheer and be proud their kid made it. So, when their kid doesn’t live up to that fantasy...” She shrugged.

He cleared his throat and chased a piece of food around his plate, and she regretted her sentiment. She didn’t know exactly what kind of expectations he had for Simon, and she didn’t want to sound like she was lecturing him for being a parent. It seemed she never stopped meddling when it came to his family.

“Did the scholarship cover housing?” he asked, giving her something else to focus on.

“Barely. But Daniel had helped me invest my savings in some bonds that helped with that. And my grandmother sent me a lot of care packages. There were plenty of nights of instant noodles,” she added hastily at Chris’s look of awe, “and I did manage to get a bursary here and there, but I did okay.”

“I’m impressed you did it all on your own.”

“It’s what I wanted.” It’d been everything she’d wanted—being away from Everville, away from her parents, living in the big city. “So I got my degree in English literature and then I interned for a magazine publishing company as an admin assistant, then as a marketing assistant in another firm, and then as a junior assistant to the publisher at a custom publishing firm.”

“Not that I’m making fun of you, but I have to ask...what do you do with an English degree?”

“Lots. I want to be a book editor,” she said. “I want to find the next J. K. Rowling or discover the new
Da Vinci Code.
I want to help good writers get gooder.” She grinned wickedly.

Chris laughed. “You’d make a great editor. I still remembered how you used a red pen to mark up all my essays. I’m sure that kind of instinct and brutal honesty will get you where you want to be.”

She toyed with her wineglass. “Except, of course, that I got laid off.”

“You’ll get where you want to go eventually.” As Chris topped off her wine, a funny pang wormed through her. Yes, she was certain she would make it eventually. She wouldn’t allow herself to fail. But all that mattered was the present, this moment she was sharing with the man who made her feel like the schoolgirl she’d never allowed herself to be. She’d given up a lot for the future she wanted—it was time she enjoyed the here and now.

“So, where in the city did you live?” Chris asked.

“I had an apartment in Chinatown. I lived there after my third year of college and stayed right up to the day I was evicted. It was a one-bedroom with a tiny bathroom and a galley kitchen. But it was enough.” She really couldn’t think of anything else to recommend her former tenancy.

“That’s a nice area, though, isn’t it?”

“It was a roof over my head.” In fact, the cramped apartment above a Chinese herb store had smelled like pungent dried roots all the time, and was full of roaches, but it had been all she could afford in Manhattan. She added determinedly, “I didn’t need much.”

“It must have been great having the city outside your door. I can’t imagine the convenience of walking to a corner store for milk. You must have loved living there.”

“I did. I
do,
” she corrected. “I love all the different neighborhoods, all the things to see and do. Even if I spent every waking minute wandering the streets, I could never see it all.” Her chest constricted, homesick for the sounds and smells, the throngs of people, the variety, the sheer verve that pulsed along the city streets.

“You miss it?”

“Immensely. But I’ll be back there soon enough.” She said it with conviction, attacking her slab of roast beef with renewed vigor. “As soon as I can pay off the car repairs and find a job, I’m outta here.” She took a bite of her roast beef and chewed. It was tough and the gravy was way too salty. She made a face, but didn’t think it’d be polite to spit it out. She hated wasting food.

“You hate it here, don’t you.” Chris’s quiet statement had her looking up from her plate.

She didn’t want to seem ungrateful. “Well, the food’s not five-star but—”

“I mean, you hate being back in Everville.”

“What makes you say that?” she asked uneasily.
Hate
was a pretty strong word.
Loathed
and
dreaded
were probably more accurate ways to describe her feelings for her hometown, but it had more to do with her family and present situation than the town itself. Or so she told herself.

“It was bad in high school for you, wasn’t it?” His voice was soft, full of regret. “People didn’t treat you very well.”