The Amish Groom ~ Men of Lancaster County Book 1 (22 page)

“Yes, but—”

“So where is it? Come on. Let’s go.”

She turned and continued on toward the parking lot. I hesitated and then had to run a few steps to catch up with her.

“You always ask rides of people you’ve just met? Isn’t that kind of dangerous?”

Lark laughed and quickened her pace. “First of all, you’re not some random stranger. Our little brothers are best friends.”

“True.”

“Besides, you’re
Amish
. That means you’re probably the most decent man in all of Orange County.”

As we neared the parking lot, I could see that it was more than half empty now.

“I kinda wish you had your horse and buggy here, though. That would have been a cool ride home. The only buggy rides around here are at Disneyland.”

I wasn’t sure whether to be offended or not. Was she really comparing a centuries-old way of life, a treasured heritage, an honored tradition, a symbol of separation and submission and simplicity with a ride at an amusement park?

She must have seen the consternation on my face because she added, “You have a horse and buggy back in Pennsylvania, don’t you?”

“Uh, yeah. Several of each. Listen, how did you get to the football game in the first place?”

We reached the lot and continued on past the first row.

“I came with my parents. My car’s not working right now.”

“Won’t they be expecting you to go home with them?”

“Nah. I told them to go ahead, that I’d catch a ride with somebody.”

I was quiet for a moment, gesturing over toward Liz’s car, which was now sitting by itself in the next-to-the-last row. In my head, I added one more observation to the list.

Young women ask for rides from near strangers.

“I still live at home, unfortunately,” she added as we moved toward it. “It’s too expensive out here to get an apartment unless I work full time, even if I went in on a place with friends. And I’m trying to save up for a new camera too. So, there you go. At least their house isn’t far from my school, and there’s a stop for the city bus just a block away.”

When we arrived at the car, I opened the passenger side door so that she could get in.

“See? You
are
the most decent man in all of Orange County. I can’t remember the last time a guy opened my car door for me.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

I pondered that as she climbed inside and then said, “Maybe you’re just not hanging around with the right kind of guy.”

The words slipped out of my mouth before I could stop them, and though I was afraid I may have insulted her, she just laughed.

“Maybe not.”

I closed the door, went around to the driver’s side, and got in. As I put the key into the ignition, she placed a hand on my arm.

“I wasn’t kidding when I said I will tutor you myself. When would you want to meet?”

I wasn’t so sure she was the right tutor for me, but I couldn’t exactly say that to her. I decided to go with it for now, hoping that once we spent a little time together, she would calm down and stop making me feel so flustered.

“My schedule is pretty open,” I said, starting up the car and putting it into gear. “You name a time and I can probably make it work.”

“Tomorrow at two?”

“Sure. Tomorrow at two sounds good.”

I maneuvered us out of the parking lot but had no idea where to go. “Which way? I assume you don’t live too far from here?”

“You want to go get something to eat first? I’m starving. Want some sushi?”

I had heard of sushi but I wasn’t entirely sure what it was. “I’ve never had that before.”

“Whoa! You have to try some!”

I hesitated, looking her way. “Doesn’t sushi have something to do with…raw fish?”

She shrugged. “Technically,
sashimi
is raw fish.
Sushi
just means ‘vinegared rice.’ But most people mean raw fish when they say sushi. Pull over.”

“What?”

“Pull over here and let me drive.”

“Why?”

“Because you drive like my grandma. No offense. It’s just easier this way.”

I didn’t know how Dad would feel about me letting someone else behind the wheel of Liz’s car, but Lark didn’t give me time to consider it.

“C’mon. Seriously. Pull over. You’re going to get us into an accident.”

“I am not.”

“Yes, you are. You’re too slow. And I’m totally starving. Pull over.”

Her impatience was making me nervous. I indicated and obeyed. A minute later we had switched seats and Lark was zooming off down the street as if we were late for the last meal on earth.

S
IXTEEN

I
’d been in a number of cars as a passenger before, but I’d never been in the kind of traffic Lark was zipping in and out of with not a care in the world. For her, the crowded Friday night streets of Newport Beach were apparently nothing short of ordinary, and the speed with which she took them even less remarkable.

As we drove to the sushi bar, she chattered away, volunteering that she was a junior in college, would turn twenty-one in February, was the oldest in her family, and that she had just broken up with her boyfriend, Matt, after she found out he’d been going out with other girls behind her back. I thought of my list.

People volunteer all sorts of personal information without provocation or invitation.

“He could have just told me he wanted to see other people,” she said. “That he lied about it was the worst. I asked him point-blank if he was cheating on me and he said no. I hate dishonesty in people. I really do. Don’t you?”

I had my hand on the door handle for no reason that made sense to me because a quick evacuation would have been disastrous. “Yes,” I said, my knuckles turning white.

“I mean, what’s the point in being with someone if they aren’t going to be truthful with you? I just think that’s a waste of time.”

“
Ya
,” I said, pressing my foot to the floor of the car to hit a brake that wasn’t there.

She turned to me. “What’d you say?”

“What?”

“You said, ‘
Ya.
’ ”

“
Ya
. Sorry, that’s yes. In Pennsylvania Dutch.”

Lark had her eyes fully off the road as she grinned my way. “What else?”

“Excuse me?”

“Say something else.”

“
Less mich’s Rawd nemme
.”

“That’s great! What does it mean?”

“It means, ‘Let me take the wheel.’ ”

Lark seemed not to have heard me. Returning her eyes to the road, she yelped and then crossed two lanes in a mad dash to get into a left turn lane while the light was still green.

“You’re lucky you’re bilingual, Tyler. Most Americans can only speak English. We’re useless when we travel abroad. I went to Paris in between my freshman and sophomore year in college, and it was pathetic. And even though I had two years of Spanish in high school, when I went to Mexico City a couple of years ago, I could barely ask for directions, and when I did, I couldn’t understand the answer I was given.”

The mere mention of her travels intrigued me enough to distract me from her driving. “You’ve been to France and Mexico?”

“Yep. I absolutely love to travel. Love it. I am going to Thailand next summer on an internship. I can’t wait. It’s going to be so cool. I am going to take a million pictures.”

We pulled into a conglomeration of buildings that included the sushi bar, a coffee shop, clothing stores, and other specialty shops.

Lark parked by the sushi bar, which appeared to be quite busy. When we stepped inside, she instructed me to “snag a table” while she ordered for us at the bar, adding that it would be her treat.

“That’s not necessary.”

“Hush. You can get the next one. Hurry up and grab that empty table before someone else takes it, would you?”

She shooed me in the direction of a table for two in the corner. I sat down and took in my surroundings. The place was filled with people of every age and ethnicity. Though I was at the back of the restaurant, I could see the chefs up front in their white hats and stern faces, working behind a bar with speed and precision. The energy in the room was accented by dozens of conversations, some in languages I had never heard before.

Lark returned to our table with a little bowl of pudgy peas in their pods, tiny plates of pink shavings and a greenish paste, some smaller dishes, and two sets of chopsticks.

She set the dishes down and I took a closer look, recognizing the beans as edamame but otherwise clueless as to the various foods she was expecting me to eat.

“Okay,” she said, as though I had asked her a question. “We’ll start with this as our appetizer, and then for your meal, I ordered you a California roll because you’re new at this and it’s pretty tame. You’ll like it. You can be more daring next time.”

“A roll?” I was picturing one of
Mammi
’s yeast rolls, slathered with butter and her plum preserves, yet I saw no one in the restaurant with anything resembling bread at all.

“They make sushi in rolls. Long and skinny. And then they cut them into pieces so that you can pick them up with your chopsticks.”

She withdrew wooden chopsticks from a paper sleeve and broke them apart. I took the second set and followed suit. Next, she pulled one of the doll-sized dishes toward her and used her chopstick to put some of the green paste in it. Then she took a container of soy sauce sitting on our table like a ketchup bottle back home and spilled some drops into the paste. She mixed the two together.

“The green stuff is wasabi and it’s super hot. You’re not going to want to lick it off your chopstick. The pink stuff is ginger. It cleanses your palate in between bites. Here. Watch me.”

Lark opened the edamame pod and emptied the beans onto a tiny plate. She picked up a single bean with her chopsticks, dipped it into the sauce she had made, and placed it in her mouth. “Mmm. Delish. Now you try.”

I tried to mimic her seemingly simple actions, but it took me several minutes to get the sticks to obey me. I was able to make the sauce with the wasabi and soy, but three beans skittered off to who knows where when I tried to pick them up. On the fourth try I managed to douse the bean into the sauce and then place it in my mouth. The taste was pleasant, even for all the work.

“Do you like it?” Lark asked

I nodded. “Pretty good.”

“Pretty good? C’mon. What do you have back on the farm that’s as good as this?”

I smiled, and when she smiled in return, I realized she was actually quite pretty under the strange hair and nose ring and tattoo. “
Mammi
’s succotash is tasty.”

“Succo
what
?”

“Succotash. Lima beans and corn mixed together. With butter, salt, and pepper.”

Lark made a face. “Ick. I hate lima beans. They’re disgusting.”

I pointed a chopstick at her. “This said by a woman who enjoys raw fish.”

She smiled.

“Nothing my
mammi
makes is disgusting,” I added.

“Your mommy?”

“
Mammi
. She’s my grandmother. I call her
Mammi
the way you might call your grandmother Granny.”

Lark popped a bean in her mouth as she regarded me, chewing thoughtfully. “So where’s the beard and the Amish clothes? Can’t you get shunned for dressing like this, even on vacation?”

I hesitated, wondering how to sum things up for her in the easiest possible way. “First of all, I’m not on vacation. I’m here to stay with Brady while Dad and Liz are out of town.”

“Oh. Okay.”

“Second, I can dress like this when I’m away from home because I haven’t yet officially joined the church. Once I do, the jeans and things will have to be put away for good.”