Nothing Less

Chapter Nine.

Oh, so the French have adapted the California-Leaf-Eaters way of life, too. Okay, so that society doesn't exist... Well, it probably does, I just don't have any proof. And isn't Tuscany a region in Italy? Some French bistro...

Nora walks in front of me and passes through the doorway. She turns around to face me just before she reaches the host stand.

"You have so much to learn, young one," Nora laughs, and turns back around. I glance around the restaurant and Nora tells the hostess that we need a table for two.

The young woman grabs two menus and begins to explain the specials of the day while leading us to a small circle table near the back of the room. "Is your rooftop open?" Nora asks before she sits down.

The hostess looks around the room. "Not yet. It opens at four. We do have the terrace you can sit in."

Nora smiles at her and shakes her head yes. "Yes. Please."

The woman leads us up a set of stairs and to a space that looks like a garden. Pots of plants hang from the ceiling, nearly touching the table tops. The terrace is nearly empty, only one table is occupied.

"Perfect. Thank you so much." Nora is polite.

I really like that she's so nice to people in the food industry. It reminds me of my theory that everyone should have to work as a server at least once in their life. It also reminds me of the time Dakota had a melt down at Steak and Shake in Saginaw because her burger came with onions when she asked for none. I was embarrassed, but sat quietly as she raised her voice at the manager, asking for her food to be taken off her bill.

She felt like a jerk after we left.

I didn't disagree with her.

I sit down across from Nora. The metal chair makes a loud noise when I scoot it closer to the table. The menu is small, lunch only. There are more cocktails than meals printed here.

"I always get the same thing," Nora says, reaching across the table. She points to some kind of peppers and then to cauliflower something. I only recognize a few things on the entire menu. Is the menu in French?

"I'm getting the shishito peppers and cauliflower and leek gratin, and pomme frites. I love everything here. I always order way too much food," she laughs and tucks her hair behind her ear.

"I... I'm going to get..." I see the word 'burger' and point to it. "I don't think I know what anything on the menu is," I laugh in an attempt to hide my embarrassment.

Nora sits her menu down and moves her chair closer to the table. It doesn't make an awful noise like mine did.

The host walks back to our table with a pitcher of water in her hands. There are sliced cucumbers and ice inside the water pitcher. What is this place? Can I even afford to eat here? I'm definitely not in Saginaw anymore.

Nora thanks the host again and she tells us that someone named Irene will be with us shorty. The more I look around, the terrace room is really pretty cool. Green leaves pouring out of wicker baskets hang over nearly every inch of the place.

"Which things don't you know?" Nora asks, her hand on my menu between us.

I look over the menu. Words like 'Croque-Monsieur' and 'Pomme frites' laugh at me from the pages.

"Basically everything except the burger," I admit.

Nora is a trained chef. She probably thinks I'm an idiot. Though, if she does, she isn't showing it. Her face is relaxed, her lips ample and pink. Her eyes look up to mine and she runs her tongue over her lips. I look away quickly before I forget my own freaking name.