Chicken pie with tarragon.
Fresh raspberry tart.
And Eric is not touching anything.
*****
Sometimes these moods of Eric's really get to me. As usual, I get him out of it -- but man, it takes time.
"I'm thinking of getting another job."
He grumbles, finally tastes the chicken pie.
"I turned down a job at Maribeau, I can't leave Royal without a month's notice, but it's time. I mean, I've gone as far as I can go. If Marinaro offered me part ownership in the company, or anything with a little more permanence... but that's not gonna happen, so maybe I'll send my resume out to a few of the best places --"
He makes a face at the chicken pie... jerk. He reminds me about my degree in Sociology...
What a lovely dinner we're having.
"I know, Eric. But what the hell am I gonna do? Take a job as a social worker? In LA? I'd last about five minutes. I thought about maybe teaching, but the pay is worse than catering.... 'course, I'd have the summers off for when we start traveling!!!"
I get a smile out of him. Finally.
We're always teasing each other about where we're gonna go on trips and who gets to choose the country first and what we're gonna look like in Bermuda shorts and straw hats on one of those stupid cruise ships with a bunch of old farts.
I remind him of the Princess Cruise like for the Elderly -- he laughs out loud. Looks at me.... smiles warmly. The mood is sliding off the table now and down the drain.
He is so handsome tonight. Eric Lewis is such a handsome man, I recall for the thousandth time -- but it never ceases to amaze me. The smile, the dark eyes....
What a babe.
"Did you have the worst day or what, Eric?"
"I had the worst day."
Then he thanks me for cheering him up and begins to devour the salad, pie and tart.... yeah, yeah, the way to a man's heart is through his ---yeah, yeah....
