Every other store I pass in the mall reminds me of how much I dislike shopping, until the scent of warm bread fresh out of the oven fills my nose and distracts me. I turn around to find two girls eating those giant salted pretzels from The Pretzel Shack. Immediately, I’m thrown back to the day I got my driver’s license. The first thing I wanted to do was pick up my best friend Troy Buchanan and drive to the mall to get one of those pretzels. I smile a little at that. Freedom is a funny thing.
I walk past a few more shops trying to find this new restaurant that Troy bragged about, stopping to drool over the different types of clay at The Perfect Sculpture. I’m not sure where this new ‘Serve Yourself’ place is located. I’m also not big on the whole buffet thing. But I am big on seeing Troy, and this is what he wanted to do.
My phone pings and I pull it from the zippered pocket of my purse, grinning when I see a text from him.
Troy: Hey, Love, be there in 10. Grab some grub and a seat. Oh, Avery is with me.
I swipe my thumb over the screen and type back.
Me: Hurry up. I’m hungry.
Troy: xo
Tucking my phone back in my purse, I round the corner. Sure enough, there’s a sign pointing to the restaurant followed by an orange awning with the words ‘Serve Yourself’ in bright green letters. The place is nothing like I expected. Rows of neon picnic tables fill one side, while on the other, various types of food and desserts are shielded behind a half sheet of glass. It reminds me of our dorm cafeteria at Oregon State University, only much cooler.
Slabs of chocolate fudge cake make me reconsider my original thoughts about this place. Nothing like chocolate to lift the spirits. I immediately pick up a tray then fly over and nab the biggest piece with the most frosting. The pasta doesn’t look half bad either and I scoop some on my plate before grabbing a drink. Out of nowhere, a long finger makes a mad swipe for the top of my cake and I yank it to the far end of the tray.
“Whoa, Ems. Now that is a serious piece of cake,” Troy remarks. He’s almost as enthusiastic about chocolate as I am. Almost.
“Hands off. Get your own.” I smirk and cup my hand around the cake, guarding it with my life.
He bats his long, blond eyelashes and gives me his best lopsided smile. “Not even for me?”
“No.” My tone is firm but playful. “Not even for you.” He kisses my cheek and I laugh. Sensing a moment of weakness on my part, he reaches for the cake again. “Stop trying to distract me. The answer is still no,” I repeat, and he sighs. “So… how was your date with Nick last night?”
He rakes a hand through his straw-colored hair. “That’s something we need to discuss over food. The jury’s still out. He’s hung like there’s no tomorrow, but something just wasn’t right.”
“Oh My God,” I shriek. “That is wayyyy too much information.”
He winks and traipses off toward the hot dishes, throwing me a glance over his shoulder. “See you at the table, and plan on telling me what’s wrong. You can either tell me now or at work later. Your choice.”
Crap.
Troy and I have been friends since the first day of second grade when he practically accosted me for my Mickey Mouse pencil. He was adorable with his missing teeth and his big grin that I had no choice but to give it to him—and the rest is history. He lives for making other people smile. Something I can’t help doing right now as he balances a tray with one hand and tosses an apple in the air with the other, not a care in the world.
I felt like that, too—before.
I shake my head to try to empty out my thoughts as I wander between the aisles of tables. Avery and Troy wave their arms in the air, gesturing for me to come over when I spot something out of the corner of my eye. Someone sitting alone at the far end of the restaurant.
Vance.
My feet propel me in his direction, almost as if there’s an invisible hand on my back guiding me. Troy and Avery yell my name but I ignore them until I find myself standing next to Vance. Heavily engrossed in a book, he shovels spaghetti into his mouth like a caveman, hand gripping the fork while spaghetti hangs from his lips. I clear my throat to announce my presence and it takes him several seconds to realize I’m there. He gives me a sideways glance, flipping the book over on the table to wipe sauce from his mouth with the back of his hand. I peer over his shoulder at the novel but he slides his free arm across the cover.
“What are you reading?”
“What do you care?” He spits the words out before returning to his plate of spaghetti. It’s actually a very good question. I have no idea.
“Just curious.”
He drops the fork onto his plate with a clatter and side eyes me again. “Curiosity kills. Didn’t you know that? Besides,” he adds, those blue-gray eyes drilling holes through my skull, “how do you even have time to talk to me? One would assume you’re too fucking busy. So if you don’t mind,” he continues after a pause, “I’d actually like to get back to my book.”
I glare at him with the same intensity he’s giving me. “You know, I don’t know you that well and already I don’t really like you.”