steering wheel and changed the CD changer to a new CD. “This is my favorite band,” he said as he advanced the CD to track three. “They’re called Gidget Goes Graceland.”
I held back a giggle as the band’s name conjured up an image of George’s assistant Gidget going to Graceland and coming back with a huge Elvis mug that she put on her desk.
The song Isaac played for me was soft and melodic and, of course, about a girl, and I quickly decided that I liked Gidget Goes Graceland. Just as the song ended, Isaac pulled the car into the parking lot of a shabby-looking hotel. He got out of the car and walked over to open my door for me.
“Here we are,” he said, extending his arm to me.
“And where is here exactly?” I asked apprehensively. It’s not my practice to enter shabby-looking hotels with men I don’t know all that well.
“Vaz Plaza. It’s a hotel and Portuguese restaurant. And they have Portuguese sponge cake. I wasn’t sure what kind of food you like, so I went with the one thing I know: You were willing to drive a hundred miles for Portuguese cake, so it must be pretty good.”
I couldn’t help smiling. I mean, Isaac had considered what food I like. That was a big deal to me considering I once dated a guy who for every date took me to Big Bernie’s Buffet because he had a year’s worth of coupons for the place.
“It sounds great,” I said. Then I paused. “But wait a minute. You’re telling me that there’s a place right here in the Monterey Bay area that sells Portuguese sponge cake?” I shook my head. “I wish I would have known that before I drove all the way out to Los Banos.”
“It may be selfish of me,” Isaac began, “but I’m glad you didn’t know about this place. I’m glad you had to drive all the way out to Los Banos.” Isaac’s lips curved up into a delicious smile.
I quickly looked away from him and began fiddling with one of the tiny beads on my black silk-chiffon top.
Isaac offered me his arm and led me toward the restaurant. As I rested my hand on his muscular forearm, my heart began to speed up, and my temperature rose slightly. And that’s when my brain piped up, and the two of us, me and my brain, began a silent conversation.
Brain: Annabelle, be careful.
Me (innocently): What are you talking about? I’m just heading into a restaurant with my colleague Isaac. Why do I need to be careful?
Brain: Because you’re starting to like him. And you’re just setting yourself up for heartache.
Me: Heartache? Since when did an innocent dinner with a work colleague cause heartache?
Brain: You know this isn’t an innocent dinner. This is a date. Need I remind you that when you were sixteen you made a commitment to only date guys who share your religious views? You need to stop this before it’s too late.
Me (angrily): Fine. This will be the last time I go out with Isaac, okay! Now please stop bothering me.
Brain (satisfied): All right.
Isaac and I reached the restaurant’s entrance, and he held the door open for me as we stepped inside. Vaz Plaza was charming and warm. Solid wooden tables covered in embroidered tablecloths dotted the floor, each table lit by a delicate candle in a golden glass globe. A hostess with graying hair appeared in front of Isaac and me, carrying two menus. She led us to a table in the corner of the dining area and set the menus on the table as Isaac pulled out my chair for me.
The conversation between me and Isaac was easy as we split an appetizer and then enjoyed our main courses. When we had finished our meals, our waitress, a young, dark-haired woman, instantly brought out two slices of Portuguese sponge cake. I immediately began enjoying my slice.
“How do you like the cake?” Isaac asked, his voice expectant.
“Actually, I think I like it even better than Marcia’s,” I answered honestly.
“Really?”
“Yeah. I mean, it has more icing. And everyone knows the icing is the best part.”
“Oh yeah?” Isaac
I held back a giggle as the band’s name conjured up an image of George’s assistant Gidget going to Graceland and coming back with a huge Elvis mug that she put on her desk.
The song Isaac played for me was soft and melodic and, of course, about a girl, and I quickly decided that I liked Gidget Goes Graceland. Just as the song ended, Isaac pulled the car into the parking lot of a shabby-looking hotel. He got out of the car and walked over to open my door for me.
“Here we are,” he said, extending his arm to me.
“And where is here exactly?” I asked apprehensively. It’s not my practice to enter shabby-looking hotels with men I don’t know all that well.
“Vaz Plaza. It’s a hotel and Portuguese restaurant. And they have Portuguese sponge cake. I wasn’t sure what kind of food you like, so I went with the one thing I know: You were willing to drive a hundred miles for Portuguese cake, so it must be pretty good.”
I couldn’t help smiling. I mean, Isaac had considered what food I like. That was a big deal to me considering I once dated a guy who for every date took me to Big Bernie’s Buffet because he had a year’s worth of coupons for the place.
“It sounds great,” I said. Then I paused. “But wait a minute. You’re telling me that there’s a place right here in the Monterey Bay area that sells Portuguese sponge cake?” I shook my head. “I wish I would have known that before I drove all the way out to Los Banos.”
“It may be selfish of me,” Isaac began, “but I’m glad you didn’t know about this place. I’m glad you had to drive all the way out to Los Banos.” Isaac’s lips curved up into a delicious smile.
I quickly looked away from him and began fiddling with one of the tiny beads on my black silk-chiffon top.
Isaac offered me his arm and led me toward the restaurant. As I rested my hand on his muscular forearm, my heart began to speed up, and my temperature rose slightly. And that’s when my brain piped up, and the two of us, me and my brain, began a silent conversation.
Brain: Annabelle, be careful.
Me (innocently): What are you talking about? I’m just heading into a restaurant with my colleague Isaac. Why do I need to be careful?
Brain: Because you’re starting to like him. And you’re just setting yourself up for heartache.
Me: Heartache? Since when did an innocent dinner with a work colleague cause heartache?
Brain: You know this isn’t an innocent dinner. This is a date. Need I remind you that when you were sixteen you made a commitment to only date guys who share your religious views? You need to stop this before it’s too late.
Me (angrily): Fine. This will be the last time I go out with Isaac, okay! Now please stop bothering me.
Brain (satisfied): All right.
Isaac and I reached the restaurant’s entrance, and he held the door open for me as we stepped inside. Vaz Plaza was charming and warm. Solid wooden tables covered in embroidered tablecloths dotted the floor, each table lit by a delicate candle in a golden glass globe. A hostess with graying hair appeared in front of Isaac and me, carrying two menus. She led us to a table in the corner of the dining area and set the menus on the table as Isaac pulled out my chair for me.
The conversation between me and Isaac was easy as we split an appetizer and then enjoyed our main courses. When we had finished our meals, our waitress, a young, dark-haired woman, instantly brought out two slices of Portuguese sponge cake. I immediately began enjoying my slice.
“How do you like the cake?” Isaac asked, his voice expectant.
“Actually, I think I like it even better than Marcia’s,” I answered honestly.
“Really?”
“Yeah. I mean, it has more icing. And everyone knows the icing is the best part.”
“Oh yeah?” Isaac
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