She found an empty table, made herself as comfortable as she could, and ate the stuffed bell pepper and the garlic toast it was served with. And of course she had crumbs and drops of tomato sauce down her front. She straightened her shoulders, brought her tray and plate to the window in the dish room, then went to check out the desserts: Napoleons, éclairs, slices of cake, cookies, Jell-O, as well as a freezer filled with ice cream. She decided to go with an éclair and returned to her table.
Just as she was about to take a bite of the éclair, someone came up to her and cleared his throat.
“Hello. I’m Gunther Bruchner.” He was cute, in a dorky sort of way, and not much taller than her. He wore a blue button-down shirt and was one of those with a pocket protector. Coke-bottle glasses perched on his turned-up nose.
“Mr. Bruchner.”
“Actually, it’s doctor. I’m a geneticist. I work in the lab.”
“Sorry. I’m Jeanette Van Orden. I’ll be working in the nursery.”