Page 78 of Something Like Hail

Noah rose, still feeling uneasy. “Have youseen my truck? I’m not sure it’s up to your standards. You knowwhat? Never mind. I can give you a ride both ways, no problem.”

“There he is,” Marcellosaid with a warmer expression. “I was afraid we had lost you. No,let’s meet at the restaurant. I don’t want to keep you from yourerrands.”

Noah excused himself,unsure what to make of the conversation.There he is? Like he had beenmissing? Whatever concerns Marcello had, they would no doubt bebrought up during his employee evaluation, if that’s even what themeal was about. Marcello’s true intent rarely revealed itself. Notbefore it was too late.

* * * * *

Noah arrived at the address Marcelloprovided, feeling like he was on the clock. His evenings were fullof such dates, the kind where he would be attentive and interestedbefore he switched gears to seductive and willing. He almost had itdown to a science. Make the other person feel important. Build upthe client until he was confident enough to think he could have anyguy, Noah included. He wasn’t vain. Noah simply understood that ifhis clients could get what they desired without resorting to payingfor it, they would. For a few of them, hiring an escort was moreabout convenience, but ultimately, a nice healthy injection ofself-esteem was just as essential as the inevitable sex.

He decided to treat this meal as if he wereon a date. What better way to prove his capabilities to hisemployer than by demonstrating just how well he could perform? Thelocation surprised him—a seafood place, a national chain that couldbe found in any middle-class suburb in the United States. Theprices were cheap considering the portion sizes, the food ofacceptable quality. He just couldn’t imagine Marcello dininganywhere so common. Noah entered the restaurant, almost expectingto see his boss on the waiting area bench, smooshed between twohungry families.

He wasn’t. Nobody was waiting, the lunchrush already over. Noah looked to the bar, which should have beenhis first port of call. Sure enough, Marcello was perched atop astool and chatting happily with the bartender.

“Dining by yourself today?”asked a greeter standing at a podium.

“Actually, I’m supposedto—”

“There he is!” Marcellodeclared loudly as he approached. “What a delight!”

The tone was welcoming, aswas his expression, but the words weren’t lost on Noah.There he is. I was afraid we had lostyou.

“Will you both be at thebar?” the greeter asked.

“Of course not,” Marcellosaid, clapping a hand on Noah’s shoulder. “I never drink beforemidnight. Anytime after is acceptable, which come to think of it,includes now, but today I believe a nice cozy booth would bepreferable.”

The greeter grabbed two menus. “Right thisway!”

Noah didn’t feel quite sochipper as he followed the pair, still trying to get himself intothe mindset of a date, but the environment had thrown him off. Asdid those three words that sounded harmless, but kept nagging athim.There he is.Where else would he be?

“Is this okay?” the greeterasked, pausing by a booth.

“Fine, thank you,” Marcellosaid. Then something caught his eye. “Actually, by the window overthere. If it’s no trouble.”

“No problem!” the greetersaid, leading them in that direction.

Noah remained silent until they were seated.He tried flashing Marcello a confident smile, but it came out morelike a grimace.

“Not feeling well?” hisboss asked.

“I’m great,” Noah said.“Just a little taken aback by your choice.”

“You mean the restaurant?We’re here for the cheese biscuits. The main courses are passable,but those cheesy biscuits are exquisite. I can’t imagine anythingmore delicious right now.”

“Hi there! My name is Felixand I’ll be taking care of you today. Can I get you something todrink?”

Marcello cleared his throat. “I standcorrected.”

Noah tore his eyes from the menu, notunderstanding Marcello’s response. Then he saw the waiter standingnext to their table. He was young, eighteen or nineteen at most.His skin was just a few degrees shy of Caucasian, hinting at aMexican or Native American heritage. Black hair swept across hisforehead to mostly conceal it, but what really stoodout—literally—were the ears. Perfectly round, they sat on each sideof his head in a way that reminded Noah of when, as a child, hewould imitate a mouse. He had always pulled on each ear or presseda finger to the back them before tilting his head from side to sideand squeaking, a stunt that never failed to make his mother laugh.Their waiter was in permanent mouse mode, not that he seemed tomind. His smile was wide and genuine in a way that Noah’s clientshad probably once appreciated. Not a calculated gesture, but anhonest emotional reaction that transformed the face into somethingtruly stunning.

“Sir?” the waiter said,still beaming at him. “Something to drink?”

“Coke,” Noah managed tocroak out.

“Lemon lime?”

Noah shook his head. “Huh?”

“Oh!” The waiter blinkedand laughed at himself. “Sorry. I’m used to my regulars. I like toserve Coke with a slice of lemon and a slice of lime. It’s my owninvention. Most people seem to enjoy it.”