“Is this a joke?”
I reach for the pancakes. “Breakfast beverages? I mean, I don’t think so, but if that’s your brand of humour I can paste googly eyes on them or something.”
Her eyes pinch. “Seriously?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Apple juice is my favourite,” she says, and I nod because—well, duh. Isn’t it everyone’s? “And I would bathe in chocolate milk if I had the choice.”
I stare at her, unsure why I’m being verbally accosted over liquids. “That might be a bit sticky.”
“Carter,” she says, her tone clipped now. “How did you know that?”
I bite into a piece of bacon, holding her stare. “I didn’t.”
She cocks a brow, not buying what I’m selling.
“My fridge is always stocked with apple juice because it’smyfavourite juice. You don’t own the rights to liking apple juice, I’m not sure if you know that.” She rolls her eyes at that one. “And who the fuck doesn’t like chocolate milk?”
She’s still watching me carefully. “So this is purely coincidental?”
I slow my chewing. “Do you think I stalked you and learned all I could about your beverage preferences?”
“Maybe.”
“I assure you, I would be a much better stalker than that if I put my mind to it. I’d know your blood type and your entire family tree by now.”
“Actually,” she says, reaching forward to grab one of the jugs. “Now that I think about it, you scream ‘chocolate milk guy.’ That isn’t so surprising.”
“I feel like that was an insult, but I’m going to take it as a compliment.”
She smiles, filling her cup with chocolate milk. Her eyes meet mine, something new there, like there’s a different kind of kinship between us that didn’t exist yesterday. Who knew that apple juice and chocolate milk were what it would take for this girl to finally look at me like we’re in this together?
“Not an insult.”
I tear into another strip of bacon and shove the bottle of syrup across the table toward her.
I watch her flood her waffles with syrup and lather ketchup on her hashbrowns. She eats methodically, gauging which bite to take next before doing it, saving most of her waffles for the end. We eat in silence, which would normally drive me crazy, but I find her process entertaining enough that it keeps my head busy.
She groans at some point, leaning back and rubbing her hand over her belly. “Crap.”
“Hmm?”
“I saved the best bite for last, but now I’m too full.”
“Isthatwhat you were doing?” I ask, bringing my chocolate milk to my lips.
She glances up at me. “What?”
“You were dissecting your breakfast with so much brain power, I thought you were going to perform surgery on it at some point.”
“You don’t save the best bits of your food until the end?”
I stare at her, unsure if she’s fucking with me.
“What if your last bite sucks?” she asks, studying my face carefully.
“It’s food. It’s good. I generally just inhale it and call it a day.”
