Free My Sort-of, Kind-of Hero by Emily Harper Page A

taking.
    “I think it’s kind of romantic,” she says, shrugging, and I see the blush rise further up her neck.
    “So Sara, what do you like to do in your spare time?” Travis asks, leaning forward.
    Over drinks they discuss things that they each like to do, and surprisingly they actually have a lot in common. And I say surprisingly only because it’s shocking how everything Travis says he likes, miraculously Sara likes the exact same thing . Travis says he likes hockey, and apparently it’s Sara’s favourite thing in the whole world; though she seems to gloss over any questions about specifics− which makes me think she knows exactly zero about anything to do with hockey.
    He spends ten minutes telling her his thoughts on the latest NHL trades and it takes all my willpower not to let my eyes glaze over.
    “Travis, I’m sure Sara doesn’t want to talk about the NHL trades,” I finally interrupt, shooting Sara an apologetic smile.
    Travis turns to me with a tight smile. “Why don’t we let Sara decide that?”
    “I don’t mind,” she volunteers, but I brush it aside.
    I’ve always been a firm believer in starting as you mean to go on, and I honestly doubt that she wants to discuss this for the rest of her life.
    “Okay, well, I don’t want to write about the NHL trades,” I say, offering him a tight smile in return.
    He blinks at me before turning back to Sara.
    “How about we order some more drinks?” Travis suggests.
    I sit up straighter and fidget with my napkin. Travis has never ignored me before. I know it sounds stupid, obviously I expected him to give his attention to his date, but sitting here I feel a little angry at Travis for trying to shut me out.
    Which is stupid. And childish.
    But it still hurts.
    The two of them place their dinner order and I hum and haw over what to get. Jacob and Co. is famous for its steaks, but I’m not sure if I’m in the mood for red meat.
    “The sides are served family style,” the waiter volunteers to me.
    I purse my lips and turn to Sara and Travis, who are talking about the completion date of the building that they are working on.
    “What sides did you order?” I ask.
    “Why?” Travis asks.
    “Well, there is no sense in us all getting the same thing,” I shrug, looking back at the menu. “The scallop potatoes sound good.”
    “I don’t think you are allowed to share with other tables,” Travis looks like he is losing his patience and turns his head back to Sara.
    “Did they order scallop potatoes?” I whisper to the waiter. He looks uncomfortable but nods. “I’ll just take the 6 ounce steak then please.”
    He takes my menu, and I turn my attention back to the two love birds.
    Sara’s currently in stiches over a joke he just told her about snowmen.
    “And then he says: do you smell carrots?”
    “Oh, god. That’s so funny!” she says, grabbing her side.
    Don’t get me wrong, it is a funny joke. Of course, it was funnier the first time he told me two months ago.
    I mean, obviously he is free to tell the joke to whoever he would like.
    But that was my joke.
    “Excuse me sir, I’m here to make your tableside Caesar salad.”
    “Oh, I was hoping you ordered that!” I say, leaning forward to look at the cart with all the ingredients.
    Sara smiles at Travis as though they are sharing a secret joke, and I have a sneaking suspicion the joke might have something to do with me.
    Sara and I might not get along after all.
    The waiter starts by grinding up the ingredients for the salad dressing, adding liberal amounts of garlic and hot sauce. It’s actually quite mesmerizing to see him making it, and I find myself slipping into a daze with the rhythmic strokes of the grinder and his low voice explaining each step.
    He adds the lettuce, croutons and fresh bacon bits and at last serves the salad to Travis and Sara.
    I let out a small sigh and bite my lip looking at the bowls. It looks beyond yummy.
    “Would you like some?” I hear Travis ask and