Free Ties by Steph Campbell, Liz Reinhardt

“They totally hide your feet. Because I get how embarrassing those shoes must be.”
    “You’re making fun of me.” She doesn’t say it like she minds.
    “I’m trying to convince you not to let your crazy footwear stop you from the best crab--the best crab --in California.” I watch her lip drop from between her teeth. “In the United States.” She wrinkles her brow, like she’s giving this serious consideration. “In the universe.”
    “Who could say no to the best crab in the universe?” She shrugs. “Okay. But if the host makes us leave because we look like slobs, I’m not talking to you on the ride to the corndog hut.”
    “Fair enough.” I go around to get her door and take her arm, and she lets me. I never know, because sometimes it pisses girls off when I try stuff like that, and Hattie definitely has that whole independent woman vibe going on big time.
    She lets me hold the door for her, too, but she makes sure to thank me when we walk in. It’s just details, just the little things, but she’s such a class act. I know how awkward she feels about her outfit--even though I think she’s crazy...she looks freaking amazing--but she radiates comfortable confidence anyway.
    She’s layered. That’s really attractive. I love that she can put on a good show, squash her insecurities. I love that even though she blows me off on the surface, pretends that this is just a casual get-together, there’s so much potential for it to go deeper. And I promise myself I won’t get discouraged if it feels like she’s not as into me, because her game-face could afford her a solid career in professional poker.
    I’m determined to call her bluff.
    We sit and Jovan, the waiter who’s absolutely always here, rushes over.
    “Mr. Byrne! You’ve brought a beautiful lady here, you’re a smart man. Fresh catch just came in, and Cook says he’s never seen better. Can I bring the lady--” He tilts his head to one side and gives Hattie a long, assessing look. “The Albarino. You will love it,” he assures her, and Hattie gives him this smile that makes me wish I had suggested some fancy wine before he could.
    “This place is amazing.” She cranes her neck to take in the breathtaking cliff and ocean views out the enormous plate glass windows, then turns back and eyes the upscale decor inside.
    I agree. We lapse into silence, and I’m dying, totally pulled under and drowning, when Jovan comes back with a tall, ice-cold beer for me, and a bottle of wine that he makes a big deal out of presenting and uncorking for Hattie.
    She takes a sip and closes her eyes. “This is unbelievable,” she murmurs.
    “You wait,” Jovan says, pointing at the bottle. “When you pair it with Cook’s special? It will come alive. Your taste buds will dance!”
    I know she’s got to be dying inside, but she tells Jovan she can’t wait and thanks him for his choice. No withering retort, no ball-busting--I guess that’s all for me. And I love it that way.
    “He can be a little crazy when it comes to food,” I apologize.
    “Crazy about food is perfect,” she sighs. “I think the elemental stuff is super important.”
    “Really?” I gulp down some beer, all kinds of sweaty, sexy elemental scenarios starring Hattie running through my head. “Elaborate.”
    She lifts her wineglass and points at me with it. “I know where your mind went. And, yes, that too.” Her lips press into a smug smile when I choke. “But, on a basic level, I like to eat. I like to sit and enjoy my food. Screw all that rushing around and eating out of vending machines. I like when a house smells like a dozen ingredients, all simmering together all day long. I like to sit around for hours at dinner.”
    “Huh.” That’s all I’ve got, because I eat most of my food on the go, stuffed down my throat as fast as I can. I consume food primarily as fuel ninety percent of the time.
    Obviously, that’s not the way it is when I have a girl like Hattie sitting