His Paladin by Oliver J.P

Author:Oliver, J.P. [Oliver, J.P.]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Published: 2019-03-22T16:00:00+00:00

12

Raine

The Pasta Corner wasn’t my favorite place to eat by a longshot, but sometimes you just wanted a heaping bowl of Italian food to stand between you and the rest of the world. It was quiet, which didn’t really surprise me -- this was a really odd time to eat, after all -- a few other patrons sitting in booths, filling the dining area with murmured conversation. As the host led us over to our table, we passed pleasant beige walls that were filled with hanging pictures of Italian villas and scenes of Venice. There was always a muted sense of peace in the Pasta Corner, no matter how busy it got, and I had to grudgingly admit it was just what I needed.

I plopped down into my seat and immediately started on the breadsticks, tearing them apart with my hands.

Quinn watched a few rapidly disappear past my gullet in faint amusement, but I was starving, far past being embarrassed. Still, I tried to avoid eye contact. I hadn’t meant to snap at him like that, especially since he had been so determined to help me out since the beginning, but the impending Last Battle was breathing down my neck, its upcoming presence a low, dull roar constantly rumbling in the back of mind. I felt like I had done so much already, worked my fingers to the bone, and there was still so much more to do.

I hadn’t even started on the goddamn dragon.

I knew making Quinn the prime target of my frustration was not the right way to go about this, especially if I, you know, happened to really like him and wanted him to stick around. And it was stupid as hell for me to come at him for tiny mistakes that certainly weren’t the end of world, mistakes he wouldn’t even be making if I bothered to actually walk him through what needed to be done. But every one of them rankled me, little pinpricks that swept me up in a storm of rage, my own incompetence and unpreparedness given physical form, staring me in the face.

Obviously, this wasn’t a Quinn issue. This was very much a me issue. But I wasn’t sure how to really go about telling him all this, especially since it would definitely crack my facade that I had everything together and under control. He might even offer to step up and do more, and I wasn’t sure my heart or my temper could take that. No, it was better to play this off as just being hangry. He didn’t need to know I was dying inside while struggling to get this all done.

Our waitress startled me out of my thoughts. I realized Quinn hadn’t said a word to me since we sat down until he placed his order -- the chicken parm, a classic staple, and I made a mental note to keep that in mind. I went even simpler with my own order, taking a page out of Nicole’s book.

“Spaghetti and meatballs, please,” I said to the waitress, and flashed her my best smile.

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