The Alabama Sandwich Shoppe looks great; reminds me of the legendary grandma’s house, except for the cement floor. They left that bare which was a choice. Still, they put so much work into the rest of it that the floor really stands out in contrast. 

Although, the wood-slat walls create a nice, at-home feel. It’s rustic, just like I’d imagine a farmhouse in Alabama – well, a historical one, at least. 

Their real success must be all the photos from around Cragdale. I wonder if the owners grew up around here. I mean: How else would they have all these photos, right? 

Well, I don’t see Maylee in here. Where could she be? Oh, they have an outdoor area; I’ll have to check that out. 

Look at this cute little porch area. The wooden beams and posts are an excellent touch. I’m beginning to think they just ran out of money before they got to the floors. 

“Noel, it certainly took you long enough. Over here.”

Ah, Maylee has found me. I give her a wave and walk to our table for two. “Looks like you’ve found a great place, dear. It’s like something out of a Twain novel.”

“What took you so long? I’ve been sitting here for an hour waiting on you. You’re just lucky that Locke, Stoche, and Baeral let me off early on a Friday. You’d be eating by yourself otherwise.”

“Yeah, I figured something like that happened. Still,” I put one hand over my heart and apologize: “there was a moth about a block from here that had some great camouflage. I got distracted.”

“What!” Maylee pushes back from the table. Looks like I might be eating by myself anyway. Every eye in the place turns to her, and I’d wager more than a few check me out too. Maylee whispers now through her teeth, “You made me wait because of a moth? I’ve been talking about this place for a month, and I finally got an afternoon off during one of your holidays from that school of yours. Obviously, you weren’t thinking of me, so what were you thinking?” 

I cannot stifle a chuckle (and that surely confirms some of the worst theories about me from our fellow dinners), and Maylee’s arms snap across her chest. My next words gush as quickly as my laugh: “Actually, you were chief on my mind. The moth reminded me of you; you often talk of feeling ignored even in plain sight, and I guess I only confirm that apparently.” 

“However,” I speak quickly in an effort to silence any confirmation from Maylee, “you see: I was going to write a sonnet to share with you inspired by that moth, but I couldn’t decide between Shakespearean or Miltonic.”

Maylee slides back to our table before handing me a menu. I guess that she’s accepted my apology, so I take my seat across from her. On the front of the menu is a meatball sub made from Conecuh sausage. 

When I admit that there’s no reason to look past the menu’s cover, she tells me that I cannot possibly order that. She says, “This is what the place is known for. I have to try that, so I can tell everyone at the office how great it is. Pick something else, Noel!” 

Our waiter comes to the table before I can open the menu. I order a beer and ask for a moment to look over the menu. 

The menu is full of pictures, and every dish looks better than the one before. The Reuben from Walker County grabs my attention, who doesn’t love a good Reuben. Then again, there’s a BLT from Blount County, and bacon does make everything better. Yet, the chicken club from Madison County looks great too. 

Maylee worries about another moth-incident, so she asks, “What looks good?” 

“I’m afraid,” I say, “that’s a terrible question. It all looks good; their photographer did an excellent job. How am I to pick just one?” 

She encourages me to choose quickly because the waiter returns with my beer. However, I see no reason to pick one over the other, so I ask the waiter, but he only confirms my confusion: “Sir, those are some great choices. I’ll be back in a minute, and let you decide.”

After the waiter leaves, Maylee expresses her frustration at my failure to choose. She cannot believe that I am having such a problem, so I show her what I’m looking at. She latches onto the chicken club, but I point to a couple more appealing things about the Reuben and the BLT, so she picks the BLT, yet there are other reasons for the Reuben and the chicken club. 

The waiter returns during this debate. He only refills Maylee’s drink and says, “I’ll check on you in a bit.” 

Now, I just need to pick something because Maylee is tired of waiting. She’s been ready to eat for a while now, so what’s it going to be? 

Maylee shoves back from the table again and nearly takes out a waitress. The waitress recovers a trout sandwich, but not before Maylee sees it. 

Maylee jerks back to the table. She demands, “You have to try that! Reviews of this place mentioned only two dishes. The meatball sub that we already know I’m ordering and that fish sandwich. You love fish, and that’s the second highest rated thing on the menu, so this is a no brainer.” 

“I like that idea,” I say. “Not only do I get a fish sandwich, but also you’ll get to try both of the famous dishes. 

When the waiter returns, Maylee solves the problem by ordering for both of us. The waiter thanks her for the order before disappearing from the table. 

Maylee settles into her chair at last, and I ask about the morning shift. She reports a variety of complaints about nothing being done according to policy and asks about what time I got out of bed. I assure her that she doesn’t want to know, and it looks like we’re finally getting down to a good lunch date.