“Welcome to ‘Belmont’s,’ may I have your name please?”
“Mayhue; Table nine.”
The short girl standing at the hostess stand greeted us with a friendly smile, almost too friendly, like she had never been more pleased with a dine-in for two.
“Of course! Right this way, please!” she said again, her smile not wavering in the slightest.
I leaned over to my girlfriend, Angela, to confirm what I was thinking.
“That wasn’t odd at all, right?”
“What do you mean? The way she was looking at you? You are just such a handsome guy and all, Ben.” She said sarcastically. She lightly giggled to herself and nudged me, obviously not noticing the same strange behavior of the hostess.
“Oh well.” I thought to myself. “I’ve always overthought things I suppose.”
We followed the hostess through walkways of the small Italian restaurant. You always have to call ahead to get seating here, it is one of the most popular places in town and the only place to get a ‘real’ Italian cooked meal. Or so they say.
I looked around to take in the ambience of the place. I had been here several times before, but I am always a sucker for detail everywhere I go. The paved brick walkways lined with marble, the wooden, shingled walls, the low lighting even for the middle of the day made for a great setting. I’ve always had this place in mind for when the time comes. Today is the day. It has to be the day.