“But you want mustard now?”
“I like it in small doses. Not a big fan of ketchup.”
“What do you eat on your fries?” Maisie asked.
“Aioli, usually,” India replied.
“You’re serious?”
“Yes,” she said hesitantly.
Maisie chuckled and said, “Well, they have mayonnaise here. Is that close enough?”
“God, no,” she replied. “But I’ll have mustard and maybe eat the fries on their own.”
“Okay. I’ll get napkins, too. One sec.”
Maisie stood and walked back over to the concession stand.
India watched her for a moment, but she heard a group of boys behind her yelling about something, so she turned to check. By the time she turned back to the concession stand, Maisie was walking back over to the table, holding another tray, which seemed excessive.
“Okay. Here’s what I can do,” Maisie said, placing the tray down in front of her. “He has garlic fries, which I didn’t order, but here’s minced garlic. Not the same, I know, but that’s mayo.” Maisie pointed to two small plastic cups. “He also had sriracha, so I got a cup of that because aioli means garlic oil, but people say garlic aioli all the time, which is redundant. Anyway, I thought you might want to make a spicy aioli, so I got the hot sauce. Then, there’s the mustard and ketchup, too, just in case. You can mix up whatever you want.”
India looked up at Maisie and asked, “You know that garlic aioli is redundant?”
“I live in New Orleans. We love our sauces here. I know aioli. How many times can I say that word? Jesus.”
“Can I just say that you’re really kind of hot right now?” India said, pulling on Maisie’s hips, bringing her in closer.
“Iam? Because I knew a random sauce fact?”
“No, because you look hot in your sporty clothes, and because you actually asked the rudest man to ever serve food to give you minced garlic for me.”
“You have odd tastes, India Sheridan,” Maisie replied, wrapping her arms around India’s shoulders.
“I think my tastes might be just right,” India replied.
“I’d lean down and kiss you right now, but there are children present.”
“There are?” India looked around.
“Well, teenage boys. Same thing, and they’re watching us. When I kiss you for the first time, it won’t be with sixteen-year-old boys gawking at us.”
“I can glare at them until they look away,” India suggested.
“Our ice cream is melting,” Maisie said before leaning down and moving her lips to India’s ear. “Later, by your door.”
India nodded, and an hour later, when Maisie dropped her off at home, India was pulled into Maisie’s arms.
“So, it’s later, and we’re at my door,” she noted. “Time to make good on that promise.”
She lifted that eyebrow that she knew would work.
“I plan to,” Maisie said before she brought India’s lips to her own by holding India’s face in her hands, giving her no place to go.
Not that India wanted to go anywhere right now. She was right where she wanted to be, and this kiss was just what she’d needed, what she had wanted for days now. It was slow and perfect, and India didn’t want it to end. Their lips didn’t so much move together as they danced, and when Maisie’s tongue slipped into her mouth, India moaned becausethiswas what she’d been missing. A kiss like this from this woman was what she had been missing. India ran her hands up and down Maisie’s sides, letting them roam until they landed on her hips, a little under Maisie’s shirt, because she had to touch skin. It was hot, and when Maisie let out a soft moan, India knew that Maisie was enjoying this as much as she was. She wanted to invite her inside to take things further, but she remembered what Maisie had said earlier.
“You’re really good at that,” Maisie told her when they pulled apart.
