neighborhood streets lined with giant oaks. Old Victorian homes stood witness as they passed. A bend in the street led them over an old stone bridge and the Rock River.
“This place is amazing. It’s like stepping back in time.”
“It is pretty.” Libby absorbed it with fresh eyes. She always thought of Rockvile as a purgatory she’d been forced to endure, not a quaint little town. They drove past the town square, where a pavilion graced the center and stone benches scattered the tree filed park. Fal leaves coated everything.
“It looks like a cool hang out place. Do you spend much time here?”
“Nope, never been,” she answered without regret. “It’s too far from my aunt’s house, almost five miles. I ride the bus to school and don’t have my license, let alone a car to drive.” She stopped asking permission to get her license months ago. Aunt Marge said it would only lead to bad behavior. Libby didn’t care about getting her license. She worried driving might be a constant reminder of the accident. The pungent smel of gasoline at the crash stil haunted her.
However her tolerance of Aunt Marge’s bizarre rules wore thin.
Since the issue with her Dad’s letter, she cared far less what her aunt said or thought.
“That’s why I hang out at Parfrey’s Glen. Anywhere else is too far.”
Peter reached over and held her hand, which amazed her every time. It was as if he could transfer al his love, strength and confidence to her.
After a turn onto Main Street and past a handful of shops, the lights of Ed’s Burger Joint appeared.
“That must be it.” Peter approached the old-fashioned drive up. A handful of cars occupied spots, each with food trays attached to their windows.
“Yep.” Libby nodded.
“This is going to be fun.” Peter puled into the lot and parked farthest from the restaurant and the bulk of the other cars.
After checking out the menu, Peter placed their order through a little metal box with a crackly speaker.
“Get cheese curds too,” Libby added.
Peter gave her a crooked look. “It’s a Wisconsin thing, right?”
“Oh yeah.”
They sat in the Jeep and talked about everything and nothing at al, oblivious to the other cars. When the food arrived, the twenty-something waitress looked twice at Peter, but said nothing.
As she walked away, she glanced back at him and then Libby, obviously weighing the likelihood of the recognized face belonging to the real Peter Jamieson.
“People don’t expect to see me, so they don’t.” Peter was here to see Libby and she wanted everyone in town to know it, but she didn’t want to share him either. She coveted their every moment.
Together they stuffed themselves with good ole greasy food until Libby thought she’d burst. She couldn’t remember the last time she ate out.
“So you aren’t one of those girls who barely eats on a date?”
“Why wouldn’t I eat?” She sucked the last of her chocolate malt from the bottom of the glass, creating a holow suction sound with her straw.
Peter laughed. “I don’t know, I guess some girls don’t want guys to see them in their natural habitat.”
Libby stirred the straw around the glass, scooting the last bits of malt together. “I love food.” She handed the empty glass back for him to place on the tray.
“Where to next?” Peter asked.
“First, the waitress needs to come get the tray off the side of the door. Otherwise, I guarantee you wil be noticed driving down the street with a food tray hanging on your window.”
“Oh yeah, guess I missed that little detail.” His brief look of embarrassment warmed her heart. The world traveler, Peter Jamieson, didn’t know how to do a drive-up restaurant. “Start the car or turn your lights on. She’l come.” Peter started the Jeep; the powerful engine hummed. Within a couple minutes the waitress returned for their tray. As she lifted it from the window, she eyed Peter again.
“You wouldn’t happen to be . . .”
“Nope.” Peter interrupted, then flashed her his famous smile as he put the Jeep in reverse.
The waitress stepped out of the way. Libby saw her glance down at the tray and see the twenty-dolar tip. She looked up at him, her face more confused than ever. Peter backed up and then puled onto Main Street.
“So which direction is the Trivoli?”
“We’re going to a movie?” Libby hadn’t seen a movie in ages.
“Of course, it wouldn’t be a proper date if we didn’t have dinner and a movie.”
Libby couldn’t have asked for a more perfect night. She directed