Free Deliver Me by Farrah Rochon Page B

why I am here right now, telling you,” he said with a bow, as if
he were a faithful servant and she, a queen.
    Monica looked down at the Jell-O and cold pasta salad that had seemed the
lesser of two culinary evils.
    “I’ve already paid for this,” she said with a hint of sadness.
    “Well, now that you know about Ethel’s, you can make this your last meal
at the Heartburn Café.” He leaned over and whispered conspiringly, “Hopefully,
you won’t learn firsthand how it got the nickname.”
    Monica smirked and headed for one of the many empty tables. Eli followed.
Somehow, she knew he would.
    He pulled out her seat and took the tray from her hands, then placed her
pasta, Jell-O, and soda on the table. He walked to the trash bin and slid the
tray in the collection crate on top, then came back to her table.
    He sat, folded his hands together on the tabletop and asked, “So, were
you born and raised in St. Louis, or did you move there?”
    Monica looked up from the pasta she hadn’t yet summoned the courage to
taste. “How did you know I was from St. Louis?” she asked. “I only mentioned
that I worked for the state of Missouri. I never specified a city.”
    He shrugged. “I heard it from someone. This is the South. Don’t think you’re
gonna just walk right in here and not be talked about.”
    “People are gossiping about me?”
    “Not in a bad way. You’re new. People are going to talk these first few
days. It’s unavoidable. So, St. Louis native?”
    Monica tried to weigh the advantages and disadvantages of answering his
question. How much did she want this man to know about her? Though there couldn’t
be all that much harm in knowing what city she grew up in, could there?
    Besides, if the rumor mill were as active as he claimed it to be, he’d
probably find out whatever he wanted to know by the day’s end.
    “I was born in Kansas City, but we moved to St. Louis when I was five. I’ve
lived there ever since.”
    “We?”
    “My family and I.”
    He made a circular motion with his hands, urging her on.
    “What?” Monica asked.
    “That’s it?” Eli asked. “Just ‘my family and I’? Do you have sisters and
brothers, cousins, an old Aunt Dot you keep hidden in the back room?”
    Monica stuffed her mouth with pasta to keep from smiling. She had to get
rid of him fast. She could not deal with drop dead gorgeous, a good job, and a sense of humor.
    “So?” he asked.
    Despite her efforts to remain unaffected, Monica couldn’t stifle the
amusement that tipped up the corners of her mouth. “An older brother, a younger
sister, and two parents.”
    “Any nieces or nephews?”
    She shook her head.
    Monica washed down the tasteless food with a swig of Diet Coke. “So, is
there a reason you want to know this, Dr. Holmes?” she asked, dabbing her mouth
with a paper napkin.
    Another shrug. “Making conversation. Trying to show a little interest in
a new colleague. And,” he continued, not quite looking at her. “I wanted to
apologize for yesterday.” He met her gaze. “I’ve put a lot of blood, sweat, and
tears into that center. Slessinger caught me off guard with the news that they’re
going to shut it down.”
    “Closing the Parenting Center is not a guarantee.”
    He shook his head. “In a normal year the banquet brings in enough to
provide first aid kits to senior citizens and maybe a few bikes at
Christmastime to the local kids. And right now the people around here are
already strapped. There’s no way we can raise enough to keep the Parenting
Center afloat.”
    Monica rolled her eyes. “Could you give this just a small chance? You’re
shooting the entire project down without even trying.”
    “The banquet would have to pull in, at the very least, three times more
than we’ve ever raised. And that’s if we want even a laughable chance at
keeping the Parenting Center open.”
    “I thought that was the point of bringing us together, so we could come
up with some ideas.”
    “The