Hello, Little Sparrow by Jordan Jones (the reading list .TXT) 📕

him. It meant he was no longer the Phoenix he’d grown to be. He surely wasn’t The Sparrow Lincolnshire press and residence knew him as.

He was Brooks Ingram: an upper middle class man living in a middle class neighborhood in a middle class city. He worked as a horticulturalist and enjoyed playing computer games, taking care of his lawn, and handing out candy on trick - or - treat night.

And, now he was on a date.

It’s what people did.

Detectives Draper and Morelli would see him as a normal guy; no way he could’ve committed that murder in Brimsburg. Detective Trotter would see him as an upstanding citizen who pays his taxes and enjoys local football games.

They would never suspect him. They couldn’t. He was reformed.

“Shafer’s Seafood, huh?” Mae said, grabbing her purse and stepping out of the car. “They have incredible biscuits here.”

Brooks agreed with her, but had nothing to substantiate. He hadn’t been out to eat in several years, and had to look up videos on etiquette before picking her up.

The restaurant was nearly dead for a Sunday late afternoon and they got to pick their own seating, so Brooks picked a booth close to the door before Mae could offer a suggestion. The videos told him that a woman liked when a man showed assertiveness, and he was sick of taking orders from Madison who was staring at them from the hostess booth, her eyes blackened with rage.

He ignored her.

“So,” Mae said after several long seconds. “Do you know what you want?”

“I’m thinking about getting the garlic butter lobster,” he responded. He said it with some authority, like he knew an everyday man would’ve said it.

A man who hadn’t killed before or had something to hide.

“Oh, and I’m paying by the way,” he told her. “You can have anything and everything you want. It’s all on me.”

“You don’t have to do that!” She exclaimed, but the videos also told him she would say that. She scoured the menu, ordering a modest surf and turf sirloin and shrimp plate that ran just north of twenty dollars.

Brooks was disappointed, but ordered a side of hush puppies to even it out.

The waiter came and left and Mae looked comfortable, opening up to Brooks about her life at the factory. She talked about how she smells like fish every time she got off work and had to immediately go home and shower. She talked about water pressure and dropping in the food and tablets that somehow kept the fish alive.

Brooks found it all interesting, and he also found himself to be a great listener once he gave people a chance.

“Then, when my boss gets on my case about it, I’ll have to send these weekly emails about the health of the fish and which ones I think are growing faster and bigger. What breeds are doing better and whatnot. I’m sorry to talk about work on a Sunday like this…ugh.” She spun her fork around on her empty plate, which held the biscuits she raved about. “I feel myself rambling.”

“No, no…it’s OK,” Brooks answered. “I like hearing you talk. I am always confined to my office and greenhouse. I never knew how everything else worked at the plant.”

“It’s not anymore exciting, believe me.”

“Watching fish swim around is much more exciting than watching plants grow. It’s not like I can feed a soybean sprout and watch it wiggle,” Brooks said, letting out a small, almost genuine laugh.

Mae laughed out loud at the joke and it helped Brooks feel more like he belonged more than ever. Madison’s presence was beginning to fade away, so Brooks kept the momentum by telling her more about how he works long hours and doesn’t see any of the results, because Dr. Leggons cuts the plants to be studied and Brooks doesn’t hear about how the studies are going unless the plant was ineffective.

Mae reciprocated and let Brooks talk.

It was strange.

The conversation went on until the food arrived and the waiter set each plate softly on the table in front of them, reminding that each plate was likely hot enough to leave a burn.

“If you need anything else, please let me know,” he said with a smile and left.

“You know, Brooks,” Mae said. “I wasn’t sure what to expect when you picked me up, but you’re really easy to talk to.”

It was a surprise to Brooks, too. He hadn’t held a casual conversation lasting longer than three consecutive sentences in several years, and it felt good.

The lobster was formidable on his plate, but the videos showed Brooks how to properly open it up and not tear up the tender meat inside. Ripping apart the shell was the easy part…keeping from stabbing through the meat would pose a problem.

He got flustered and put his fork down, grabbing a hush puppy with his bare hand.

“So, tell me something about yourself, Brooks,” Mae said, breaking a deafening silence. “Tell me something you probably shouldn’t share on a first date.”

First date? As in, first of many? Brooks hadn’t considered it to be anything other than work friends going out and having lunch.

If he became romantically involved, it would only serve to further his cause.

“What do you mean?” Brooks asked, giving the lobster another attempt.

“Like, tell me something you really like, then follow it up with something you really hate. Um, I’ll go first. I really like the feeling of sand beneath my feet and between my toes. Especially Florida sand. It’s super soft and makes me never want to wear shoes. I’ve spent countless hours going to beaches back when I lived there and I’d never touch the water. Just go on strolls on the beach and listen to music.”

“That sounds nice,” Brooks responded. He tried his best to sound like a person engaged.

“OK, you’re turn.