With a sigh, she grabs Airheads Xtremes, bite-size Kit Kats, and–
“Wait, what the hell are those?”
She holds up a box with a red brick pattern on it, and an old-timey font that readsBoston Baked Beans.
“These are my favorite,” she says incredulously.
Oh this is about to be so fun.
“There’s no way these areanyone’sfavorite–who in their right mind picks something called ‘Baked Beans’ for a snack?”
“They’re just chocolate covered peanuts, don’t be dumb. They’re obviously not actual beans.” She swats my shoulder, and I fight the urge to grab her hand and keep it in mine.
“These were my grandma’s favorite, which became my dad’s favorite, and now they’re mine,” she says with a shrug. “I’m just keeping a family tradition going.” She crosses her arms across her chest and pops her hip out, giving me a challenging look. “Is that allowed, candy snob?”
“I’m not a snob,” I cry in mock outrage. “But this is Texas darlin’, I don’t want beans in my chili OR my candy.”
“Well no one is making you eat them, but I’m getting them,” she says, tossing her hair over her shoulder and dropping them into the basket I’m holding. “You can do whatever you want.”
“I still don’t really know any of those words you said earlier, but that seems like it might be very ‘manic-pixie-dreamgirl’ to me.”
With an indignant scoff, she yanks the basket from my arm and stalks off toward the register–I nearly pull every muscle in my cheeks grinning as I follow behind her.
***
“Are you guys planning on coming over tonight?”
Jack and David’s heads both snap up, first looking at each other, then turning to me. David’s eyes look like they’re on the verge of popping out of his skull. His mouth hangs open, giving me a front-row view of the street taco he wasmid-chew on.
We’re sitting in the local food truck yard, The Park, like we always do after our Saturday morning disc golfing.
Jack “wasn’t raised in a barn,” as his granny reminds him on an almost daily basis, so luckily I’m spared the sight of his food, but there’s no avoiding the way his eyes narrow at me suspiciously.
“What the hell are you talking about dude?” David asks. “When have we ever ‘made plans’? Our default setting is ‘at Griffin’s house,’ where else would we be?”
“I don’t know,” I mumble. “We did movie night last night, I figured you’d want a night off from my house.”
David shakes his head, muttering something under his breath–probably something rude as hell–as he dives back into his food. Jack’s attention hasn’t wavered for a second, and I’m actively avoiding making eye contact. After the look he gave me the first time Eleanor came over, I don’t think I want him paying any more attention to me than he has to.
“Are you going to finish your food or just keep staring at me?”
I’m trying to keep my tone casual, playful even, but he’s always been annoyingly perceptive and I don’t think I’m getting out of this one that easy.
“Why are you making sure? Is there a reason weshouldn’tcome over tonight?”
This gets David’s full attention again, and now I’m looking around the food truck park like it’s the damn Louvre to avoid this conversation.
“Yeah Griffin,isssssthere a reason?”
David draws out his question in a mocking tone, which is annoying because I know he doesn’t even know what he’s mocking me about yet, he just knows Jack is honing in on something.
“No dude, chill,” I mumble irritatedly. “Eleanor was just asking if there was a plan for tonight or if it was boys only, and I was figuring out what to tell her.”
Jack’s eyes narrow even further, and David gives me a confused look as he checks his phone.
“What are you talking about? She didn’t ask what the plan was, she hasn’t said anything in the group chat since Wednesday,” David says, obviously bewildered by this whole conversation.
I can see the exact moment the puzzle pieces click together in his little pea brain, and I know exactly what’s coming. I drop my head into my hands with a groan as David lets out averydramatic gasp.
