A Time for Us - By Amy Knupp Page 0,4
as they followed the hostess to a booth against the far wall. When she whipped her head around to him, he said, “That’s not an insult, necessarily.”
“You don’t really know me.” She spoke as they sat on opposite sides of an orange laminate table that had scratches all over it. A couple of nearby tables had single occupants dressed in scrubs, and a noisy group over in the large corner booth was undoubtedly a gaggle of nurses who’d finished the overnight shift, as well.
“Not directly, I guess. Only through Noelle. She talked about you a lot so I feel like I know you better.”
“What are you ordering?” she asked abruptly as the hostess placed menus in front of them. She fidgeted with the menu, bending the corner back and forth.
Okay, so she doesn’t want to discuss her sister, apparently.
Cale opened the menu and located his usual. “Pecan waffles. Maple syrup. Side of bacon, not crispy.”
“If I remember right, it’s hard to beat Egg-omaniac’s waffles,” she said, closing her menu and setting it aside.
The waitress appeared with a pitcher of ice water then took their order.
As they waited for their food, she questioned him about the alarms he’d been on last night, again seeming more at ease with shop talk than small talk. She managed to keep the focus away from herself, he noticed. That only served to pique his curiosity.
“So what else do you do besides work?” he asked when she’d paused to take a drink of water.
“Uh...” She frowned as she set her glass down. “I have no idea. It’s been years since I had free time. I think I lost all my hobbies.”
“What’d you do in, say, high school for fun?”
“Study.” Her lips, the lightest color of pink and all natural, flirted with a sheepish grin. Finally. “That kind of sounds pathetic, doesn’t it? Someday I’ll figure out what I like to do in my spare time. As soon as I find some spare time.”
He didn’t really believe that she’d try. Didn’t think she believed herself.
“So tell me why I’m really here,” Rachel said, back to her serious self.
Cale refilled both their glasses with water from the pitcher. Took a drink. Removed his silverware from the wrapped-up napkin. He shrugged. “You just seemed kind of alone. I don’t know. Noelle would want us to be friends.”
“There’s no way for you to know that.” She stared at her water glass as she said it, speaking so quietly that Cale could barely hear her.
“I know it bothered her that you and I weren’t closer. That we didn’t have many occasions to get better acquainted.”
Rachel’s eyes closed in unmistakable pain, making it clear his desire to talk about her twin was going to go unheeded for now.
In an attempt to lighten the mood, he said, “I seem to remember you’re a self-proclaimed...what was it? ‘Chronic introvert in frequent need of a social rescue.’ Let’s just say that’s why I asked you to breakfast.”
Her head jerked up, and surprise shone in her eyes as she stared at him. “You remember that?”
* * *
RACHEL FELT STRANGELY exposed. Though she could recite almost the entire conversation she’d had with Cale the night she’d met him—which was maybe an hour and a half before Noelle had met him—she’d figured Cale had long ago forgotten it. That was the way it had always been—guys tended to forget all about Rachel as soon as Noelle came along. Her sister had always been one of the most beloved girls around, and Rachel had accepted that—most of the time. When it had come to a few specific guys over the years, it had been tougher to swallow.
She’d been home for a visit three years ago, and Noelle had insisted on taking her to a friend’s party, dragging her away from a week’s worth of reading that had to be squeezed into the long weekend. Rachel had known succumbing to her sister’s pleas for more “sister time” had been a mistake the second they had walked in the door of the ritzy house on the bay. The open-layout main floor had been packed with people—loud, over-happy, in-varying-stages-of-drunkenness people, none of whom Rachel had known. An hour or so into the evening, when Noelle had rushed over to a recently engaged acquaintance to check out her ring, Rachel had escaped out the back door for fresh air.
She’d gone out on a deck that stretched over the dark, calm water, the uncharacteristic early spring chilliness probably to blame—or thank, if you asked