Why was that name familiar? I glance up to see a familiar set of green eyes, blonde hair and high cheekbones with a strong nose. I knew him from somewhere, but where? Then it came to me.
“You were our waiter at Othello’s,” I pointed out.
“Oh, really?”
“Oh, yeah,” Myra said.
“What are the odds?” I had a feeling this wasn’t a coincidence.
“That is something. This is my second job.” He shrugged his shoulder. “How about some drinks?”
We ordered a couple sodas. I had the salad bar, and Myra ordered a Cheeseburger in Paradise.
“Sooooo…” Myra dragged out the word “so” to somehow make it a four-syllable word.
“Sooooo… what?” My eyes rolled, like that good ol’ southern expression, “rolls are on a Christmas light timer,” except this would be more of an annoyance timer. I already knew where this question was going, but I didn’t want to go there.
“Sooooo… do you believe him? Do you think this is his second job? I just find it strange that at a completely different restaurant in a different town, he is our waiter.” She lifted her eyebrows at me as if she were exposing a conspiracy.
“Strange?” I repeated in an audible huff. “Maybe, but stranger things happen all the time. Besides, I really don’t think he could have set this little meeting up. He couldn’t have known we would be coming here. We didn’t even know until two seconds before walking through the door.” I reminded her.
“Well, kill all the fun. We could've made up an entire story about who he is and why he’s following us, but, no, not the party pooper.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “Of course, it’s a coincidence. I know that isn’t possible. A coincidence isn’t a very fun fantasy.” She muttered something under breath and then stuck her tongue out at me. Once Myra got on a roll, redirecting her thought process was quite a feat sometimes.
“I’m going to the salad bar. Do you want anything?” I asked, hoping to end the subject and get some food.
“Hey, yeah, get me some ranch and croutons.”
I loaded my plate full of salad fixings, not forgetting Myra’s requests.
“Don’t forget to try the frozen yogurt bar before you leave. It’s superb here.”
I looked up from the ranch to see our waiter standing next to me. “I’ll do that.” We smiled at each other. “So, you work here and Othello’s, huh?”
“Yeah, just trying to pay my way through school,” Noah offered.
“Really? What are you studying?”
“Physiology, with an emphasis on dream analogy,” he explained proudly.
I’m sure the fact that I was clueless was apparent on my face. I didn’t understand what the two had in common.
He obviously picked up on my confused façade. “I’m exploring how dreams affect your body overall. The analogy is to find out if the intensity of your dream, good or bad, affects your bodily functions, which includes your organs and natural rhythms.”
“Really? Well, that explains the connection, I guess. Looking for a test subject?”
“Sure. Maybe I can write my thesis on your situation? You know, if you are interested,” he added shyly.
“I haven’t told you about my dreams. Maybe they won’t be interesting enough for your case study.”
“I’m sure they will.”
My cheeks blushed from embarrassment because I wasn’t sure what his answer meant. He didn’t know anything about my dreams.
Noah leaned into my ear and whispered, “Everyone has interesting enough dreams.”
“Okay.” I couldn’t come up with an intelligent response.
I headed back to our table, four rows down from the salad bar. I counted them on the way to the self-serve bar. As I passed the aisle of booths adjacent to our section, I happened to raise my eyes from the ground and saw him. It would have been nice to keep my eyes on the ground for a few more seconds. My feet came to a halt mid-stride, causing me to fall forward just a smidge. It couldn’t be. Demien was sitting at the opposite end of the row from where I was standing. I slowly walked toward him, letting my anger bubble. He was at the bar and now there. I was beginning to wonder if he was following me. As I approached his table, my heart plummeted when I realized it wasn’t him. That man didn’t look that much like him. My eyes were playing tricks on me, or my mind. Whichever the case, I was much too disappointed in the discovery that it wasn’t the man of my dreams. I wanted it to be him.
“Can I help you?” asked the man sitting at the table.
“I’m sorry. I thought you were someone else. Mistaken identity, sorry, again.” …So embarrassing. If I hadn’t been so disappointed that it wasn’t Demien, then I wouldn’t have stood there staring at a stranger like an idiot.
“Wait… not so fast,” the man said softly as his hand reached out for me. “Why don’t you have a seat? We can hang out. I’d like to know your name.”
“Um, no thanks. Someone is waiting for me.” I practically ran back to my table.
When Noah came back to our table, I asked, “Hey, do you want my number or something?”
“I’ll find you.” He dropped off the ticket and left.
“What was that about?” Myra asked as soon as she thought he was out of hearing range. I froze. Did she see the interaction with the stranger an aisle over? Her eyes expressed innocence. My face had to have resembled a deer caught in headlights. My eyes felt as wide as a double-wide trailer home. Before I could figure out how to play that one off, Myra says, “Well? Why does Noah need your number?”
My face relaxed as I let out the breath that I had been holding in. Stammering, I replied,
