The Perfect Blend by Allie Pleiter Page B

Determined to keep off that particular subject, I redirect the conversation. “We’re not talking about me, we’re talking about what you did in boarding school.”
    â€œNo, I was talking about you and why you missed class. You steered the conversation away from that subject and onto the topic of my childhood misadventures.” Will points toward an open booth near the window. “And don’t think you’ll get away with it. I’ll be happy to recount the terrible fate of Madam Fraser’s liberated rabbits after we’ve covered the topic of Maggie Black’s ideal customer impression.”
    A spindly, underfed college student sulks over and plants a pair of menus onto the table. Unable to read anything in these glasses, I pull them off and begin looking for the dessert page. He’s about to launch into his rendition of today’s specials when he gets a clear look at my face. My face, which I’ve forgotten I’ve just unveiled. “Whoa, lady, duck next time, okay? Man, what hit you?” he says, cringing right down to his snake tattoo and rock concert T-shirt.
    All right people:
    1) I’m too young to be called “lady” by college students.
    2) Reminders of my current appearance are unwanted.
    3) It was entirely unnecessary for his lordship to butt in and growl, “That’s clearly none of your concern” in such an intimidating high-and-mighty accent that our server backs away without so much as pouring us a cup of coffee.
    I slam my hands onto my hips. “I can take care of myself, you know.”
    â€œWhat an appalling thing to say. He’s supposed to be serving you, not insulting you.”
    Did he hear me at all? Testosterone-based hearing loss? Hello? “And who said you’re supposed to be protecting me? I could have handled Mr. Tactful just fine on my own. You just said yourself how feisty I am.” I put my sunglasses back on.
    â€œI’m not being protective. He was rude. Youcould have been an army general and I would have responded the same way.”
    I don’t believe that for a minute. “You would not,” I counter in my best little-sister-fights-back tone. Suddenly all the overblown fussing I’ve received in the past week boils up inside my independent head. “You’re coddling me because I’m a girl. Because I got this, ” I say, pointing to my face, “turning in one of your assignments and because…because…because you’ve got all that genteel British stuff running around in your veins and you can’t help it. And it’s annoying. Got it? Annoying. This is America, where women kick butt on a regular basis and the guys can handle it.”
    The power banker comes roaring out of his features. He jabs a finger at the server “You,” he commands, snapping the server to attention. “Coffee, black, two sugars,” He says pointing to my place setting. “Tea, with milk and one sugar, very hot,” he says, pointing to himself. “You,” he says, glaring at me so hard I gulp, “have thirty seconds to take those ludicrous glasses off and narrow your list down to ten words starting now. ”
    â€œYou can’t…”
    â€œTwenty-eight, twenty-seven…”
    Unfair, obnoxious, boorish, egotistical…

Chapter Nine
    Two scarier thoughts
    â€œH e didn’t!”
    I’m sitting in my sister Cathy’s kitchen after work Monday, looking at photos of Charlie in his toad costume and relating the events of my sandwich with Will. “He did. I swear I thought he was going to whip out a sword and defend my honor or something.”
    â€œGuys like that still exist?”
    â€œI know. You’d think the male species would have left the I-must-protect-the-fairer-sex mind-set behind a couple of decades ago. I told him this is America, where the women can hold their own, thank you very…”
    I stop mid-sentence