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“And you’re here to make sure that any repairs Rita needs are done so that this place can run smoothly and take care of the community that you live in,” I say.
It’s not a question.
“Something like that,” he says.
Then he reaches for the front door and opens it for me, letting me walk in first.
I'm already starting to see that Seven is a fixer.
It’s how he shows he cares since verbal communication seems to be limited with him.
In a matter of seconds, I’m starting to understand him more than I have over the last few days.
Walking into the restaurant, I should have been prepared for how packed it would be since the parking lot was full.
The lobby is standing room only while people wait to be seated.
“Sev! Honey, you’re here! Thank God,” I hear a woman’s booming southern drawl before I see her.
A small older woman in her mid-to-late seventies weaves through the crowd as they all part for her to come through.
She’s no bigger than five-foot-one, but I can already tell that her personality makes up for the whole foot-and-a-quarter-size difference between these two.
I watch as Seven crouches down a little, and the woman wraps her arms around Seven’s waist.
“You call, and I come running,” he says with a smile, and I think my heart just erupted in my chest.
I’ve never seen that smile before, and I doubt very many people have, which is a shame because it’s really beautiful.
"I have someone for you to meet," Seven continues.
Seven turns to me, but before he can introduce me to the woman I assume is his neighbor, Rita, she releases Seven and quickly pulls me into an embrace.
“Sev, you didn’t tell me your roommate is a knockout. No wonder you wanted to keep her all to yourself.”
I can feel my cheek warm into a blush and Seven stutters something as if he’s going to object to what she just said. Then she cackles and puts one hand in each of ours, pulling us forward.
“Come on. Let’s get you two kids fed.”
I look over at Seven, and I see him bite down on his lower lip for a second. He shakes his head at the woman we’re following but he keeps his attention forward and doesn't meet my eyes.
Walking Rita pull Seven through the restaurant is like watching a toddler pull the lead rope on a Budweiser Clydesdale.
And the fact that he goes along with it without complaint makes me like him all the more.
Rita leads us to a small booth that’s perfectly built for a party of two but not much more.
“How about this?” she asks. "It's the only thing I have available at the moment."
Seven looks to me instead of her.
“Is this enough room for you to write?”
I nod enthusiastically.
Rita just let us cut at least forty people. Even if there wasn’t enough room, I’d make it work.
“We’re a little short-staffed for the crowd. I underestimated how many people need a warm meal today. I’m going to take your order now if you know what you would like so that you're not waiting for over an hour,” she says.
