The Write Choice

Chapter 9

Rage flashed in Jake's face. Melanie thought he might punch Brandon, but he turned to Melanie instead. "May I speak to you for a moment...privately?" He grabbed her arm and pulled her over to the window.

"You're not seriously going out with Brandum? The guys an idiot." He looked at her and motioned to the dress. "You did all this for him? I can't believe you're falling for all his bullshit."

"Why...why," she stammered. "Why do you care who I date?" She wasn't sure why the answer seemed so important.

"Because, I...," he hesitated. "I'm your friend."

"You're my friend...right," she said bitterly.

"Yes...I care. You know...about what happens to you." He looked down at the floor.

"And what exactly do you think will happen if I see Brandon?"

"Well...I don't know...you could start reciting company policy or worse," he lowered his voice. "Turn into Barbie." He looked over in Tiffany's direction.

Melanie gave a short, tight laugh. "Well, she's good enough for you."

"That's different," Jake replied.

"How?" She waited for an answer.

Jake didn't answer but turned around and stormed back down the hallway.

You're the idiot, Melanie thought, as she fought back tears.

"Are you ready to go?" Brandon asked.

"Yes," she replied and lowered her head to wipe away a tear before he could see.

He held out his arm. Melanie grabbed it and walked out of the office without looking back.

Brandon sat opposite her in the limo. He grabbed a bottle of champagne and popped the cork. As he poured them both a glass, he glanced over at Melanie. "You really do look stunning." He raised his glass to hers. "Here's to a fantastic evening!"

Melanie guzzled the bubbly liquid and tried to calm her nerves.

Brandon reached over and touched her hand lightly. The familiar tingle shot through her. "You'll love this restaurant. They make authentic Italian cuisine...like what we had when we were children in Italy.

He paused for a moment remembering. "Our house in Italy had a giant wood table in the kitchen. My brothers and I would sit around it and pester the cook to make us cannoli."

"Oooh, I love those," Melanie commented as she tried to forget her fight with Jake.

"You know," he continued, "cannoli is a Sicilian pastry dessert. The name means little tube."

"Wow, I didn't know that." She started to relax a little.

"Occasionally, we would spend Christmas there. In the kitchen, there was a huge fireplace--big enough for a man to walk in. We would sit in front of the fire and cook would make us hot chocolate with whipped cream and anisette cookies--are the Italian equivalent of the American sugar cookie with icing and colored sprinkles."

He looked thoughtfully out the window. "I think her name...cook's name...was Lucia."

Melanie imagined a young, dark haired boy and his brothers eating cookies in front of the fire while a large, Italian women bellowed out a laugh as she brought them cocoa.

I wonder what his brothers look like?

They reached the restaurant and headed inside. It had stone walls with gas iron lanterns that looked like something you would find in an ancient city like Paris. The rustic wood tables had large silver candle operas in the center. The wax from the white tapers had dripped down onto the table so it looked like they had been there for decades. It was very romantic.