92 Pacific Boulevard - Debbie Macomber [47]
She nodded absently.
“Have you decided?” he asked.
“Decided?” Her eyes met his; a moment later, she appeared to realize he was referring to her dinner order. “Oh, sorry, I haven’t looked.” She scanned the list. “Their crab Louie’s always been one of my favorites.”
“You should try something different.”
Her brow creased in a frown. “Why?”
“Be…cause,” he said, dragging out the word, “if you’re anything like me, you tend to order the same dishes from the same restaurants. Before you know it, you’re in a rut.”
The lines on her forehead gradually relaxed. “You’re right. That’s exactly what I do. I order chili rellenos when I’m eating Mexican and the chicken hot-sauce noodles when I order Chinese.”
“Consistency is comforting,” he said, “but every once in a while it’s good to venture out, try something new. Take a risk.” He hoped she understood that he was talking about more than food—that he was referring to their relationship, too.
He guessed she’d been with one man her entire adult life and the thought of being with another intimidated her. Will hoped his advice would expand her view of more than just meal choices.
Shirley picked up the menu again and studied it carefully.
“I recommend the fried oysters,” he told her. “I had them for the first time a few weeks ago. See?” he said with a grin. “I tried something new and I liked it.”
She shook her head. “I already know I don’t like oysters.”
Not easily discouraged, Will asked, “When’s the last time you ate them?”
“I don’t remember.”
“Then do it.”
She shook her head again. “I could order the seafood sampler—it includes oysters and shrimp and cod.”
“Excellent.”
“But all that fried food…” She frowned.
Will listened to her go through practically the entire menu, discussing each selection in detail and dismissing one after the other. The waitress returned three times before Shirley was finally ready to order.
She looked at Will and grinned sheepishly. “I’ll have the—”
“Oysters,” he said, cutting her off. “The lady will try the oysters.”
“Actually, I won’t,” Shirley said. “I’d like the crab Louie.” She threw Will an apologetic glance. “I’d rather stick to something familiar.”
He wondered if there was a message to him in these words—a response to his message. “I’ll give you one of my oysters and you can try it.” That seemed a fair compromise.
“Okay.”
The waitress left and Shirley had a little more of her wine. “You were telling me about Larry Knight.”
“Ah, yes.” He rested his back against the polished wood bench and lifted his glass. “Like I was saying, Larry has a lot of sway with art schools around the country.”
Shirley soaked in every word. “Do you think he might open doors for Shaw? I mean, I don’t know what Shaw’s financial situation is. I seem to remember Tanni telling me his father disapproves of Shaw’s dream of being an artist. He’s an attorney and wants Shaw to attend law school. He’d probably need a scholarship.”
That was understood; one look at Shaw was enough to convince Will that the kid didn’t have a dime to his name. “I figured he would.”
“Would you be willing to do that for Shaw? To ask Larry?”
But Will knew she also welcomed the prospect of Shaw’s departure, for her daughter’s sake.
“Only if you believe Shaw’s talent is sufficient,” he said.
“Oh, I do,” she said earnestly.
Will set his glass on the table, holding on to the stem, gently swirling the wine. “I’m sure Larry gets these sorts of requests all the time.”
“I’m sure he does. I didn’t mean to imply that he should recommend Shaw unless his talent warrants such an advantage.”
He nodded. “I’ve already had him look at Shaw’s work, so Larry’s familiar with what the boy can do.”
“Then you’ll ask?”
He nodded again, slowly. “I’ll call Larry on Monday morning, then let you know what he has to say.”
Shirley’s face lit up with a huge smile. “I can’t tell you how grateful I am.”
He couldn’t resist the thought that maybe, when the time came, she could show him. No, that was the old