Nicole (Sewing in SoCal #3) - Sarah Monzon Page 0,1

wasn’t going to let them off the hook. At least, not without a little more cash thrown in for the Nature Conservancy.

What?! Saving the planet gets expensive, and a hairstylist doesn’t exactly rake in the money.

My “date” flirted a bit more, and I stared out the window to give them a small measure of privacy.

“Are y’all ready to order then?”

The question pulled me back around. David looked at me and waited. I wasn’t really hungry and hadn’t looked at the menu to see if they had any vegan options. “I’ll have a garden salad.” I handed the still-closed menu to Jen.

“And I’ll have a hamburger cooked medium.” He glanced at me again. “And extra fries for the table.”

Let it go, Nicole. Let him squander his money if he wanted to. But the wasted money wasn’t what bothered me. It was the uneaten food. Restaurants threw out hundreds of pounds of perfectly good food a day while people literally starved down the street.

I smiled sweetly. “That’s okay. I don’t want any fries.”

David frowned, and his eyes flicked down. If he’d had x-ray vision, he’d have been looking through the table to my size sixteen jean-clad hips.

His gaze returned to mine. “You might think you don’t want fries now, but when mine come out, you’ll change your mind.” He looked back to our server with a placating smile. “Extra fries,” he said as he handed her his menu.

I beamed brighter at Jen, channeling the rising heat from my core into rays of clipped civility. “Just the salad. No fries for me. Thank you.”

Her sculpted eyebrows pulled down as she volleyed her gaze between David and me, wondering which of us she should listen to. I held her gaze a second longer, and she must have seen something in my eyes, because she scurried away with a squeak.

“I don’t know what the big deal is. It’s just French fries. If you don’t want them then you don’t have to eat them.”

I breathed in through my nose and gripped the edge of the table, my knuckles turning white.

“Don’t be so dramatic, Nikki.” How many times had I heard those words come out of Greg’s mouth?

“Don’t be so dramatic. It’s only a little fever.” Sierra had been six months old, barely breathing, and burning up.

“Don’t be so dramatic. It’s only a joke.” One at which no one laughed, only cried or seethed on the inside.

“Don’t be so dramatic. I just had to work late.” And have an eight-month affair before running off with Chelsea from human resources.

I pushed my hair back from my shoulders and rolled my lips. This was one of those times I needed to pick my battles. David Brown and our hopefully-no-longer-than-half-an-hour acquaintance wasn’t worth a spike in blood pressure.

“Your profile says you enjoy rock climbing?” Maybe I could get him to talk about himself, then tune him out until the check came.

He nodded. “Yeah. It’s a great workout, you know.” His eyes traveled south again, and he leaned a bit to the side.

Really? Was he really trying to catch a glimpse of my lower half under the table?

“You should check it out sometime.” He blinked, seeming to reconsider. “Although, I’m not sure they have…” His voice trailed off.

I knew exactly what he’d left dangling. He wasn’t sure they’d have a harness that would fit my body type.

I tilted my head and poured innocence into my voice. “Not sure they have what?”

“Well, you know.” He waved his hand in the direction of my legs.

“No, I don’t know. Educate me.”

He looked away and shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

“Okay then, let me educate you.”

His head whipped back around.

“In the future, if your date doesn’t have the fictional body of a Barbie dream girl, don’t stare in horror and take surreptitious glances at what you consider problem areas.” My fingers hooked in air quotes. “Don’t flirt with another woman when you’re supposed to be out with a lady. And for goodness’ sake”—I scooted back from the table—“don’t assume that if a woman isn’t your ideal weight she’s going to steal your French fries!”

A smattering of applause erupted around us, and I realized my voice had risen with each word until I had practically yelled the last part.

David ducked his head. “You know what? I don’t think this is going to work.”

I wanted to throw one of Betsy’s sarcastic retorts—no kidding, Sherlock!—his way, but refrained.

“I’m just going to go.” He was halfway to the door before he’d finished speaking.

My nose scrunched. Great. Now I was left