CH4: The Diner - Part 2 (Abby)

“Can I sit?” He asked and I motioned my hand for him to sit across from me. How old was this guy? He looked to be somewhere in his twenties and yet he was already so accomplished, how was it possible?

“How, um, how do you know my name?” I asked, nervously. The women who were infatuated with him were right, he was incredibly handsome, and his presence, like the men mentioned, intimidating. The photo’s that I found of him online did not do him justice. Ironic, I thought.

He looked at me and tilted his head as if it were obvious, “Your father’s file, of course,” he smiled at me.

I felt like an idiot, of course he knew our family from the trial. “Of course,” I said quietly and attempted a chuckle as I looked down at my hands in my lap. “What are you doing here?” As soon as the words escaped my mouth, I hoped that my question didn’t come across as rude or insensitive, but my curiosity peaked and I couldn’t take it much longer.

“What? A judge can’t eat?” He raised an eyebrow and his voice was laced with amused sarcasm.

“No, I just meant... never mind.” I was too tired from the day to even think, and as I was stealing glances at the man in front of me, I couldn’t keep my train of thought straight. He was more handsome up close than what I saw in the courtroom earlier today, and I finally got to see his eyes. They were a bright blue like the sky on a clear day, I wondered how it was possible for me to not notice, even from where I was sitting in the courtroom. His skin was tanned and flawless, clean-shaven, and as I thought, he had strong, broad shoulders, that were very visible now that he wasn’t in his judge’s robe.

I looked back down at my hands in my lap and felt the same gaze as I had felt this morning on me again and I looked up, he was looking at me, his head slightly tilted, and a small grin on his lips, he looked like he was analyzing me. I looked left and right before he asked me, “Why aren’t you eating your food?”

I chuckled at him, “Does this really count as food?” I motioned at the food in front of me and pushed it away towards the center of the table.

He smiled back at me, “I’m not a fan of this place either. I only had someone to see here for work when I recognized you. I wanted to check on you after that guy left and I overheard what the waitress said.”

He saw that embarrassing moment. How was I supposed to respond to that? “Thank you, for handling that for me. Your generosity is greatly appreciated.” Did I just tell the judge that locked up my father this morning generous? What was this man doing to me?

“It’s the least that I can do. I am sorry for how things turned out this morning with your father.” His tone was polite and his voice just as smooth and deep as I remember. Maybe I shouldn’t blame him, it was, after all, the jury who decided that my father was guilty. Regardless of the fact, I couldn’t tell him it was okay, so I only hummed in response and pressed my lips together.

“I don’t know about you, but I’m not much of a fan of eating alone, and it appears that you are doing just that, without the eating part.” He had tilted his head, “I was wanting to go to Farro for dinner. Would you care to join me?” I was stunned when he asked me to dinner, and so casually, too. Was this appropriate?

I remembered that I didn’t have a ride to get home after Bradley left me here, and looking out the window, I saw that it was pouring rain now. If this guy was a judge, then he must have a completely clean record, there’s no way he is secretly a serial killer or rapist, so I felt like I could trust him, at least a little bit, and more than I was worried for my safety, I was hungry. What harm would come from a simple dinner with the man who incarcerated my father? Oh God, what am I doing? I nodded my head with a friendly grin, responded, “Sure.”