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Chapter Eight - Dinner for Two

"Have you traveled a lot? I've never gone anywhere."

"Is your hair naturally this blonde? Mine is. I mean, natural. When I was a baby my mom called me potato because I didn't have any hair and my head was kinda misshapened."

I figured after refusing to answer ten questions straight that Rosie would give up. Unfortunately, I had met the only girl on the planet who was oblivious to being ignored. We both had caught a few more fish, none as impressive as the first. I had kept a few aside, suddenly hungry for a little omega 3 for dinner.

"So how old are you? I'm twenty four."

I glanced over at her. She had kicked off her flip flops and was wiggling her toes happily. I sighed.

"I'm thirty four."

Her head turned my way; I looked out at the water.

"You don't look thirty four," she said.

"Must be good genes," I said dryly.

"Well, it probably won't last long if you don't smile more," she mused.

"Excuse me?"

"I'm just saying...it takes more muscles to frown than it does to smile."

I grumbled. My line jerked again and I began to reel in my next bite.

"Why aren't you working today?" I asked, colder than I intended.

"Tito told me to take a couple days off. Joshua's taking my place. He's working to pay for your repairs."

"That's not necessary," I said.

"Yeah, it is. It's the only way he's going to learn." Rosie stepped back, pulling her pole out of the water. I felt her eyes on me.

"You know what we should do?" she asked. When I didn't respond, she continued. "We should take the fish you caught, go back to the restaurant, and cook them on the grill."

"No thanks," I said. I pulled in another small fish and unhooked it. I put the pole down and placed my last catch in the bucket. "I have a small grill; I'll eat here."

Rosie smiled. "Deal. I make a mean seasoning and--"

I held up my hand. "No, you don't understand. I just...I just need to eat alone."

Rosie didn't frown, but her forehead creased. "Why? I've seen you eat. You're a little messy, but--"

"Listen," I said, my voice catching a little. "Thank you for the afternoon, but I need some solitude."

Rosie slid her feet back into her flip-flops. Her hand snaked through her hair. "Just tell me one thing. How is spending one more hour with me eating going to ruin a whole night of solitude?"

I opened my mouth but my voice failed me. She had her hand pressed into her hip and the wind was picking up her hair. I closed my eyes and sighed.

"Fine. We'll take your gear back and we can eat at the restaurant."

"What a great idea!" she said happily, as if it had been my idea. I heard the clink of the fish bucket hit against her leg. I opened my eyes. "Let's go!" she said.

I grabbed the tackle box and fishing poles and followed her down off the boat. She walked quickly, beginning to hum slightly as she headed in the direction of the restaurant.

"Do you have a pretty big crowd for dinner?"

"We're not really open for dinner," Rosie said.

As we neared the line of restaurants, I saw the usual hustle-and-bustle in the ones that were always packed. The one we headed towards was already dark.

"Why aren't you open for dinner?" I asked.

"Over the years, the other places kinda took over. We don't serve liquor. We're more of a casual breakfast and lunch establishment."

As she explained, she walked around to the side of the building. She used her elbow to jiggle a handle. I was prepared to offer assistance, when the door swung open.

I smelled the remains of breakfast; there was a perpetual odor of bacon and eggs. I put the tacklebox down on the floor as she flipped on the light.

The kitchen was small, but clean. Rosie put the bucket of fish on the counter and opened a tall cabinet.

"You can put the poles against the wall," she said. I propped them up at an angle. When I turned, I almost fainted. She was holding a sharp knife.

"Know how to skin these bad boys?" she asked. I took the knife slowly, turning it around and admiring the strong blade.

"I think I can handle it," I said.

It had been a long time since I had cooked with a woman in a kitchen. Rosie continued to hum a song that seemed familiar, but I just couldn't place. Within fifteen minutes, the smell of bacon and eggs was replaced with a strong blend of spices. The sizzle of the fish on the wide grill top was oddly soothing.

"Can you get a couple plates? They're too high for me to reach."

I bit the inside of my cheek, unsettled to realize I had almost smiled. The shelf wasn't that high off; I didn't even have to reach to grab to white ceramic plates down. "Where's the silverware?" I asked. She nudged an elbow in the direction of a large container. I pulled out two sets.

"You can put them out front. We can eat in a booth," she said.

I left her as she expertly manned the grill. I found some napkins and slowly set out the table settings.

With just the emergency lights on, the restaurant was cloaked in shadow. I watched a few young couples walk by, laughing and holding hands. I stretched my arms up high, trying to loosen up the muscles that had tightened in my shoulders.

I stayed out front for a minute longer. The sounds of the grill died away. I heard a click; soft music floated from the old radio on the ledge that seperated the kitchen from the restaurant. The swinging door flew open and Rosie stepped out with the two white plates filled with fish, rice, and vegetables. Curling steam rose from the piping hot food.

"Fishing always gives me an appetite," she said with a smile. She set the plates down and ran her hands down the front of her pants. "Sit down. I'll be right back."

I settled down and picked up my fork. I pressed the fork down into the fish and marveled at the way it easily flaked away. I was just about ready to bring the bite to my mouth when a glass of dark red liquid was placed in front of me.

"What's this?" I asked. Rosie slid across from me and put down her glass.

"Red wine. It tastes amazing with this fish."

I shook my head and slid towards the end of my seat. "I just want water."

Her arm shot forward and she grabbed my wrist. Her eyes softened.

"Please? It's the house wine."

"I thought you said you didn't serve dinner. Or alcohol," I reminded her.

"We don't serve hard liquor. But at one time, back before I could even drink, we were known for our house wine. Please. Tito will be happy that it's being used."

I sighed, but settled back. I picked up my fork, bringing to my mouth the bite I hadn't yet tasted. The flavors erupted on my tongue; I let out a moan of appreciation.

"Good, right?" she asked happily. She shoveled in a huge mouthful, her cheeks puffing up in pride.

"It's delicious," I admitted. "What spices did you use?"

She chewed, swallowed, and proceeded to click her tongue. "Secret family recipe."

"Are you kidding me?"

She laughed. Her flip-flop hit my foot and I pulled mine back. "Nope. It was my mom's recipe. She was probably the only girl born in Kansas that could cook fish as good as a Hawaiian. She passed the recipe down to me almost before I could see over the stove. And someday I'll pass it down to my children."

I didn't know how to respond; I was out of social practice. To cover for the awkwardness, I brought the glass of wine to my lips.

She hadn't been lying. As the liquid settled on my tongue, it blended with the aftertaste of the fish so well it was almost erotic. I closed my eyes, breathing slowly.

It was only when I blocked out everything else that I realized that Rosie had turned the radio to an 80's station. Journey's Faithfully burned at my ears. I shot out of my seat and yanked the knob quickly.

"What's wrong?" Rosie said, her voice laced with surprise. My chest rose and fell as if I had just run a marathon.

"Everything," I said weakly.