“When Ben and Lucy came along, he continued the tradition, only sometimes, I was allowed the coveted position of bartender, which I loved. At the time, I thought I was cool because I got to make the drinks, but of course, it was never really about the drinks. It was about the time we spent together, supporting each other on the hard days or celebrating the good ones.”
“I love that,” he says. “So, what’s today?”
“What do you mean?” I ask.
“Is it a good day or a bad day?”
“A good one.” My lips curl into a grin. “I mean, how could anyone have a bad day while eating nachos?”
“Ah, so it's just because of the nachos,” he teases.
“Well,” I say, drawing out the word. “The company’s pretty great too.”
“Yes!” He pumps his fist in the air before folding his arms on the table and leaning forward. “Okay, I want to learn more about you.”
I take another loaded chip. “What would you like to know?”
The adorable crinkles that frame his eyes when he smiles reappear. “Everything.”
Before I can register what’s happening, he reaches across the table, his finger brushing the corner of my lip. “You have a little something there.”
Reflexively, my hand moves to cover the spot he touched, a rush of warmth passing through me, as though I’ve just had a glass of expensive wine.
“If you were a sandwich, what kind would you be?” he asks.
I snort out a laugh. “I’m sorry—what?”
“I told you, I want to learn about you,” he says. “And while knowing things like your favorite color or holiday are nice, they don’t tell me a lot aboutyou.”
“This may come as a shock to you, but I’ve never considered this before,” I say, resting my chin on my hand. “Are you sure I can’t interest you in my favorite color—blue—or my favorite holiday—Christmas?”
“While I do love blue and Christmas, and even ‘Blue Christmas,’no. This is important.”
I chuckle, then pause to consider the question. “Well, my favorite is ham and cheese.”
“But areyouham and cheese?” he asks with mock seriousness.
“No,” I say, shaking my head. “I don’t think so. Ham and cheese is too effortlessly good. It’s simple and doesn’t feel the need to try too hard. I would be a club sandwich.”
“And why’s that?” The way he listens intently, eyes focused on me, makes me want him to ask me questions all night long.
“A club has something for everybody. Depending on who you’re feeding, you can add or take away as much as you like. It aims to please. A club isn’t too spicy or bland, and it’s dependable. It’ll always fill you up.”
“I feel like I need a minute to digest that answer.”
“Which is fine, because club sandwiches are easy on the stomach,” I say with a grin. “Same question for you. What sandwich wouldyoube?”
“Peanut butter and banana.”
“And why’s that?” I ask.
“It’s reliable, sturdy. But it’s also got something a little unexpected; something fun.”
“Wow, that is wildly accurate.”
“But,” he says, lowering his voice, “now I kind of wish I was ham and cheese.”
“Don’t we all,” I say, plucking the cherry garnish from my drink, biting the sweet fruit from the stem.
