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Russell laughed. “Exactly.”
“I also feel like it holds the ketchup better,” I said, taking another big bite of my extra-toasted bun. “This is an excellent hack.”
“Fun fact—unless they’ve overstayed their welcome?”
“Never,” I assured him, dipping a perfectly crispy fry in the secret sauce.
“Okay, so the fifty-seven in Heinz 57 isn’t actually about the number of varieties they have. That was just a marketing campaign that came later. It was because five was Heinz’s lucky number, and seven was his wife’s.”
“So did they then have to make fifty-seven varieties? So they weren’t lying on the label?”
Russell shrugged. “Clearly, I need to do more research.” He took a bite of his burger, then wiped his mouth carefully. “This was a good call. The last time I had this was with the Bens, and that was two weeks ago now—before they both left.”
“They’re at school already? The Bens?”
“Yeah. Tall Ben is at Tulane, and Actually Tall Ben is at Emory. Apparently, he spent the first week going around pretending he thought he got into Emerson, and asking everyone where Walden Pond was.”
“They sound great.”
Russell smiled. “They really are. You’ll have to meet them someday.”
The words hung in the air between us, and I saw immediately that Russell had just registered what he’d said. “Right,” I said quickly, picking up my drink. “Sure.”
I took a sip of my Arnold Palmer—I’d decided a two-milkshake day might put me in a sugar coma—but it didn’t taste quite as sweet as before. We finished up quietly, both of us suddenly occupied with our fries or burger remnants. “Ready?”
Russell nodded, then held up his milkshake cup. “I’m going to keep working on this, though.”
“There aren’t any cupholders,” I pointed out. “Just something to keep in mind.”
“How did I not notice that?” he asked, turning around to look at the front of the car. “Also, did nobody get thirsty in the olden days?”
“That’s what I was thinking!” I gathered up our lunch detritus. “I’ll just toss this out.”
“I can get it.”
“I don’t mind.” I started to slide off the back of the car, my hands full, when Russell frowned.
“Darcy—you’ve got…” He nodded toward my face.
“Oh.” Did I have a glob of ketchup or something on my face? Had it been there for a while now? This was the problem with eating with boys. Didi and Katy would have pointed it out as soon as it happened. I went to put down the boxes in my arms just as my cup threatened to fall, and I grabbed for it. “Just… a second.”
“It’s… I can,” Russell said, moving in a little closer to me. He raised his eyebrows, asking if it was okay. I nodded, my heart suddenly beating harder as he leaned forward and closed the space between us.
He reached over, his fingers brushing against my cheek gently. “Got it,” he said. He lowered his hand but didn’t move away.
“What was it?”
“Tiny piece of lettuce,” he said with a smile. “Nothing to worry about.”
“Well—thank you.” I was having trouble concentrating—he was suddenly so much closer. I’d gotten used to it in the car, but this was different. This was leaning-forward-four-inches-and-kissing-him nearness. This was seeing-the-freckles-on-his-forearms nearness. The last time we’d been this near, we’d been half-naked and kissing furiously.
A moment passed between us—one that felt different. It wasn’t like earlier, when it seemed like just a look, a touch, was enough to generate a spark between us—exciting and ever-changing and volatile. This felt more like an ember—warm and steady and keeping watch, ready to catch if conditions were right, but not until then.
“Darcy,” Russell said softly. He took a breath—just as his phone started to ring. “Sorry,” he said, stepping back and pulling his phone out of his pocket. “That’s my dad.”
“He’s probably checking on the car.”
“Undoubtedly. I’ll just be a second.” Russell took a few steps toward the restaurant, and I found the nearest trash can to dump our stuff in. Then I made my way back to the Bronco, leaning against the back, trying not to think about the fact that when Russell and I had been so close, everything in me had been yelling to kiss him.
