Jan. Week 3: A Long Weekend-Monday...Lunch with Jonathan: Mr. Howard...Leah suggests the Arancini.

“The arancini sounds…unique,” Leah said, trying to sound unfazed while her insides squirmed. She forced her lips into a smile, willing herself to stay composed.

“Spice is good for the soul,” Howard said, his eyes locked onto Leah’s, a silent dare behind them. “Though not everyone can handle the heat.”

“Yeah, that sounds good to me.” Jonathan nodded, oblivious to the undercurrents.

The hostess finally materialized, emerging from behind a frosted glass partition with a little notepad clutched to her chest and a nervous smile.

“I am soooo so sorry for the wait!” she smiled apologetically, her ponytail bobbing with each frantic nod of trying to reassure the new patrons. “We have a nice booth in the back, right? It’s one of my favorites—nice and private.”

“Perfect.” Leah said with a sigh of intense relief. “Well it was good to see you Mr. Howard. Have a great day!”

“Very nice to see you Miss Williams, and good to see you again, Jonathan. Y’all enjoy your day off.”

Jonathan nodded politely as Leah dragged him with her behind the hostess as quickly as possible to the quiet and secluded booth.

As they got comfortable in the booth Leah breathed a sigh of relief.

“Crazy meeting your boss here.” Jonathan said as he settled into the booth seat across from her. “Weird guy.”

“Yeah.” Leah said shortly before grabbing the menu and looking it over.

"Well at least this is nice." He said as he fumbled with the menu. "You never get to eat lunch with me hardly."

It was true.

“God I knooooow.” Leah said, her smile returning to her face.

Leah scanned the menu, though she already knew she’d order the spicy miso carbonara. Jonathan made a show of pondering, running his finger down the list and muttering in mock-seriousness about the merits of “orange chicken lasagna” versus “tikka masala pizza.” The easy, ridiculous banter made her want to reach across the table and ruffle his hair, but she kept her hands folded. She liked the anticipation, the slow buildup, the time together—even if it was just lunch.

The server appeared, a college-aged girl with one of those pink shag haircuts that made her look like a walking piece of bubblegum. She asked if they wanted to start off with some waters with an air of distracted benevolence, then slipped away out of sight. Leah’s phone vibrated, and she saw she got a text message. She glanced at it quickly while Jonathan was trying to playfully pronounce the Asian-Italian fusion entrees on the menu.

The meaning was so obvious—so grossly, lewdly unsubtle—she almost snorted, except the sick twist in her stomach made it impossible to laugh. Leah could not believe Mr. Howard wanted a fucking renezvu right here in the restaurant. She’d known he was going to try something; she just didn’t expect him to move this quick or to be so damn shameless. He was ridiculous. She knew she had to text him a response...