Michael/Jamie: Vol1 Chap17
Summary: Jamie is upset; Michael comes along and orders half a restaurant's menu.
Excerpt: I was still my father’s son, of course. And even if no one recognized my face, that tone of voice was something people understood.
Chapter 17: Michael
My mural was coming along nicely. I looked up at it proudly. Almost done, and I was successfully quelling the part of me - the annoyingly obsessive part - that wanted a do-over.
Of course, it wasn’t perfect. There were parts where the colors were a bit darker than I had expected they would be once the paint had dried. And there were a few shaky curves that a person could notice if they put their face up to it and stared for a long, long time. And there was the-
Stop it.
My stomach rumbled and I tried to ignore it. It tried to chew on itself instead so I sighed, put down my brush, and looked up at the ceiling.
I stared at the high windows and blinked. It was pitch black outside.
My stomach rumbled again.
“I’m sorry!” I told it loudly, putting my things away. I glanced down at myself. At least I wasn’t too much of a mess.
I patted my mural fondly and ran off to wash up.
* * *
I almost didn’t notice her. I’d parked my car in front of Haven and got out, feeling kind of good. Accomplished. But starving. And I was almost at the door when she caught my eye.
She was standing, unmoving, near a window and was staring into the restaurant with an odd expression. I hesitated before coming up behind her.
“You had all afternoon and all you came up with were jeans and a sweater?”
Jamie Jenkins whirled around, her grey eyes wide with surprise. “Mike,” she breathed.
Then she blinked, looking at me. I’d been in such a hurry; I hadn’t bothered to change out of my old painting clothes. I had just shrugged on a soft, leather jacket to hide most of the mess.
“You’re one to talk,” she said, though the comment lacked her usual edge.
I glanced at her before looking through the window myself, wondering why she was acting so strangely. I saw who she had been staring at immediately. Jonathan Melman was sitting in a booth in the back, oblivious and nervous as he fiddled with the knives and forks on the table. A bouquet of yellow roses lay by his elbow.
Jamie was attempting to walk past me, ready to bolt, but I grabbed her arm and pulled her back.
“Aren’t you going to join your boyfriend?”
She looked up at me. “I have to go.”
I sighed and held on to her hand. “Come on,” I said, and dragged her to the door.
“No!” she told me harshly, an edge of panic creeping into her voice.
“Look, I’m starving. I have to go in and I don’t want to leave you here. He won’t see you, I promise. You can hide behind that plant near the front.”
“But I-”
Too late, I’d already yanked her through the door.
“Do you have a reservation, sir?” the snooty man at the entrance asked with icy courtesy, looking us up and down and noting our ordinary clothes. His eyes lingered on my paint-spattered jeans and t-shirt, and on the faded streaks of paint on my hands that I’d been unsuccessful in scrubbing out.
“I didn’t think I’d need one,” I said, a little surprised by his attitude. I guessed he was new. I looked at him more closely. And definitely not a Summers.
He was not pleased. “The restaurant is full, sir. Perhaps you should try coming back later. And with...different attire...”
I raised an eyebrow at him. “And when did Cecilia decide we needed a dress code?”
Jamie tugged on my sleeve. “Let’s just go somewhere else.”
“I can’t. I don’t have much money on me.”
The arrogant idiot near the door drew himself up. “Then you are in the wrong place. We do not serve free food.”
“Ah, damn it. You’re annoying.” I grabbed a passing waiter - I didn’t know him either. “Get me Cecilia.”
The guy blinked at me.
“Cecilia. Now.”
He nodded and hurried off. I was still my father’s son, of course. And even if no one recognized my face, that tone of voice was something people understood. I had learned it from my Dad a long time ago. I felt embarrassed at having to use it, though. And in front of Jamie, too. Just more typical rich boy behavior from Harding.
Cecilia appeared a minute later, before the spluttering man beside us could make up his mind about tossing us out physically. Which was a good thing, as that would have caught Jonathan’s attention, and Jamie would not have liked that at all.
Cecilia frowned when she saw me.
I smiled brightly in response.
“Are you running away again?” she asked with a pointed glance at Jamie.
“No, I’m hungry. And I don’t have any money.”
“You. Don’t have money.”
“Well, what can I get for five bucks?”
She laughed. “All right. What do you want? You can sit in the back.”
Jamie squeezed my arm and I quickly shook my head. “We’re not staying. Can you just shove some food into a basket for us?” I grinned and draped an arm around Jamie’s shoulders, pushing things a little, considering her boyfriend was only several meters away. “We’d like to have our dinner in...private.”
“Get your hands off me or I swear to God I’ll kill you right here,” Jamie said out of the corner of her mouth, stepping hard on my foot until I let go. Her heel probably crushed all five of my toes but I couldn’t help smiling.
Cecilia gave us a funny look. “What can I get for you?”
“I want the mushroom and Swiss cheese sandwich and French fries and tuna salad and a quarter of roasted chicken and maybe a slice of apple pie with cream and a slice of cheesecake.”
“Can you two eat all that?”
I frowned. “You’re right. There are two of us. Make it half a roast chicken and give me two of everything else. Plus some water, please. Thanks.”
Both Cecilia and Jamie stared at me.
“What?”
Cecilia sighed. “Right. I forgot. You’re a walking black hole. Wait here.” She turned to my new friend at the front desk. “If Mr. Harding needs anything else, send someone to tell me.”
The stuffy guy paled. “Certainly, Ms. Summers,” he said in a strangled voice.
I pulled Jamie to a padded bench near the entrance and sat down. “What’s got you so upset?” I asked her softly, not really expecting an answer.
She sighed and looked down at her knees.
“Your boyfriend’s waiting for you.”
She laughed at that. “He isn’t waiting for me,” she said bitterly.
I raised my eyebrows but said nothing. She looked like she was about to cry any minute and I thought it better not to push her just then.
Cecilia came back with a wicker basket. “Here you go. With knives, plates, forks... And I put in a blanket, too, along with a few other, uh, things.”
“Wine?”
“Don’t push it.”
I laughed and accepted the heavy thing, getting up with Jamie. I put my hand on her back and smiled winsomely at Cecilia. “Thanks. I owe you another one.”
She sighed and rolled her eyes in exasperation. “I used to baby-sit you. I didn’t think running this restaurant would amount to the same thing.”
I grinned at her. “Thank you,” I repeated, kissing her lightly on the cheek. I steered Jamie to the door.
“Does your family own that restaurant?” Jamie asked once we were back on the sidewalk.
“In a manner of speaking,” I answered vaguely. I stopped beside my car. “Well?”
“You should go.”
“Are you really not meeting him?”
She glanced back at the restaurant. “I told you. He isn’t waiting for me.”
“Shall I drive you home?”
She shrugged.
“Or would you rather have dinner with me? Cecilia must have put half the restaurant in this thing.”
She hesitated for a moment before finally nodding.
I suddenly had the feeling that it was going to be a long night.
Excerpt: I was still my father’s son, of course. And even if no one recognized my face, that tone of voice was something people understood.
Chapter 17: Michael
My mural was coming along nicely. I looked up at it proudly. Almost done, and I was successfully quelling the part of me - the annoyingly obsessive part - that wanted a do-over.
Of course, it wasn’t perfect. There were parts where the colors were a bit darker than I had expected they would be once the paint had dried. And there were a few shaky curves that a person could notice if they put their face up to it and stared for a long, long time. And there was the-
Stop it.
My stomach rumbled and I tried to ignore it. It tried to chew on itself instead so I sighed, put down my brush, and looked up at the ceiling.
I stared at the high windows and blinked. It was pitch black outside.
My stomach rumbled again.
“I’m sorry!” I told it loudly, putting my things away. I glanced down at myself. At least I wasn’t too much of a mess.
I patted my mural fondly and ran off to wash up.
* * *
I almost didn’t notice her. I’d parked my car in front of Haven and got out, feeling kind of good. Accomplished. But starving. And I was almost at the door when she caught my eye.
She was standing, unmoving, near a window and was staring into the restaurant with an odd expression. I hesitated before coming up behind her.
“You had all afternoon and all you came up with were jeans and a sweater?”
Jamie Jenkins whirled around, her grey eyes wide with surprise. “Mike,” she breathed.
Then she blinked, looking at me. I’d been in such a hurry; I hadn’t bothered to change out of my old painting clothes. I had just shrugged on a soft, leather jacket to hide most of the mess.
“You’re one to talk,” she said, though the comment lacked her usual edge.
I glanced at her before looking through the window myself, wondering why she was acting so strangely. I saw who she had been staring at immediately. Jonathan Melman was sitting in a booth in the back, oblivious and nervous as he fiddled with the knives and forks on the table. A bouquet of yellow roses lay by his elbow.
Jamie was attempting to walk past me, ready to bolt, but I grabbed her arm and pulled her back.
“Aren’t you going to join your boyfriend?”
She looked up at me. “I have to go.”
I sighed and held on to her hand. “Come on,” I said, and dragged her to the door.
“No!” she told me harshly, an edge of panic creeping into her voice.
“Look, I’m starving. I have to go in and I don’t want to leave you here. He won’t see you, I promise. You can hide behind that plant near the front.”
“But I-”
Too late, I’d already yanked her through the door.
“Do you have a reservation, sir?” the snooty man at the entrance asked with icy courtesy, looking us up and down and noting our ordinary clothes. His eyes lingered on my paint-spattered jeans and t-shirt, and on the faded streaks of paint on my hands that I’d been unsuccessful in scrubbing out.
“I didn’t think I’d need one,” I said, a little surprised by his attitude. I guessed he was new. I looked at him more closely. And definitely not a Summers.
He was not pleased. “The restaurant is full, sir. Perhaps you should try coming back later. And with...different attire...”
I raised an eyebrow at him. “And when did Cecilia decide we needed a dress code?”
Jamie tugged on my sleeve. “Let’s just go somewhere else.”
“I can’t. I don’t have much money on me.”
The arrogant idiot near the door drew himself up. “Then you are in the wrong place. We do not serve free food.”
“Ah, damn it. You’re annoying.” I grabbed a passing waiter - I didn’t know him either. “Get me Cecilia.”
The guy blinked at me.
“Cecilia. Now.”
He nodded and hurried off. I was still my father’s son, of course. And even if no one recognized my face, that tone of voice was something people understood. I had learned it from my Dad a long time ago. I felt embarrassed at having to use it, though. And in front of Jamie, too. Just more typical rich boy behavior from Harding.
Cecilia appeared a minute later, before the spluttering man beside us could make up his mind about tossing us out physically. Which was a good thing, as that would have caught Jonathan’s attention, and Jamie would not have liked that at all.
Cecilia frowned when she saw me.
I smiled brightly in response.
“Are you running away again?” she asked with a pointed glance at Jamie.
“No, I’m hungry. And I don’t have any money.”
“You. Don’t have money.”
“Well, what can I get for five bucks?”
She laughed. “All right. What do you want? You can sit in the back.”
Jamie squeezed my arm and I quickly shook my head. “We’re not staying. Can you just shove some food into a basket for us?” I grinned and draped an arm around Jamie’s shoulders, pushing things a little, considering her boyfriend was only several meters away. “We’d like to have our dinner in...private.”
“Get your hands off me or I swear to God I’ll kill you right here,” Jamie said out of the corner of her mouth, stepping hard on my foot until I let go. Her heel probably crushed all five of my toes but I couldn’t help smiling.
Cecilia gave us a funny look. “What can I get for you?”
“I want the mushroom and Swiss cheese sandwich and French fries and tuna salad and a quarter of roasted chicken and maybe a slice of apple pie with cream and a slice of cheesecake.”
“Can you two eat all that?”
I frowned. “You’re right. There are two of us. Make it half a roast chicken and give me two of everything else. Plus some water, please. Thanks.”
Both Cecilia and Jamie stared at me.
“What?”
Cecilia sighed. “Right. I forgot. You’re a walking black hole. Wait here.” She turned to my new friend at the front desk. “If Mr. Harding needs anything else, send someone to tell me.”
The stuffy guy paled. “Certainly, Ms. Summers,” he said in a strangled voice.
I pulled Jamie to a padded bench near the entrance and sat down. “What’s got you so upset?” I asked her softly, not really expecting an answer.
She sighed and looked down at her knees.
“Your boyfriend’s waiting for you.”
She laughed at that. “He isn’t waiting for me,” she said bitterly.
I raised my eyebrows but said nothing. She looked like she was about to cry any minute and I thought it better not to push her just then.
Cecilia came back with a wicker basket. “Here you go. With knives, plates, forks... And I put in a blanket, too, along with a few other, uh, things.”
“Wine?”
“Don’t push it.”
I laughed and accepted the heavy thing, getting up with Jamie. I put my hand on her back and smiled winsomely at Cecilia. “Thanks. I owe you another one.”
She sighed and rolled her eyes in exasperation. “I used to baby-sit you. I didn’t think running this restaurant would amount to the same thing.”
I grinned at her. “Thank you,” I repeated, kissing her lightly on the cheek. I steered Jamie to the door.
“Does your family own that restaurant?” Jamie asked once we were back on the sidewalk.
“In a manner of speaking,” I answered vaguely. I stopped beside my car. “Well?”
“You should go.”
“Are you really not meeting him?”
She glanced back at the restaurant. “I told you. He isn’t waiting for me.”
“Shall I drive you home?”
She shrugged.
“Or would you rather have dinner with me? Cecilia must have put half the restaurant in this thing.”
She hesitated for a moment before finally nodding.
I suddenly had the feeling that it was going to be a long night.