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That makes her laugh so hard she throws her head back.
Thirty minutes later, Indie’s not laughing anymore.
“This is incredible,” she says after the first couple bites of her Chicago-style dog. “I’ve never tasted anything like this. The bun is so soft and the flavors are so good together.”
“Right?” I take down a third of one of my dogs in a single bite. “I try to come here every time we play in Chicago.”
My favorite hot dog place is just a little stand, but it’s so popular that they operate year round, with plastic sheeting secured to a huge frame made of two-by-fours to provide insulation for their picnic tables when it’s cold.
A little insulation, anyway. It’s still cold as hell in Chicago in March, and Indie and I are both bundled up, our breath making small mist clouds in front of our faces.
“Don’t tell my sister I ate a hot dog while wearing her coat,” she says, grinning.
“You should stick a wiener in an inner pocket if it has one. I bet she’d appreciate that.”
She bursts out laughing, covering her mouth with her hand. “She’d still be bitching about it on my deathbed, trust me.”
“I’d like to meet her sometime.”
Indie’s quiet for a few seconds, and I fear I overstepped. We’re doing a dance where I don’t let on just how into her I am, but sometimes I can’t help myself.
“Maybe,” she says.
Disappointment hits me right in the chest as I decipher Indie’s expression.
“She doesn’t know anything about me, does she?” I ask.
“Well…she knows I have a friend, but that’s it. Rue is dead set against me dating for at least a year after my divorce, and she’d take one look at you and lecture me for hours.”
I give her a playful grin. “Because she’ll know you’re attracted to me?”
She looks away. “Did I mention how great this hot dog is?”
I won’t push her—this time—because I don’t want to move too fast. I mean, I’d love to move fast if I thought everything would work out, but I’m pretty sure she’d pull away and I’d lose my shot.
“I want to go ask the owners of the stand how much that would cost,” I say, nodding at a metal sign hammered onto one of the two-by-fours that says You can’t make everyone happy—you’re not a Chicago-style dog.
It has a dancing, fully topped Chicago-style hot dog on it. Indie turns to look at the sign, then at me, and then back at the sign again.
“You’re joking,” she says, putting a french fry in her mouth.
“Why would that be a joke? I love this place. You said to surround myself with art that makes me feel good, and that makes me feel good.” I stand up. “I’m going to go see if I can buy it. Maybe for my kitchen?”
“Are you serious?”
“I’m not a fancy-pants kind of guy, Indie. I’m just a Kansas City boy. I love hot dogs, and that sign would look awesome in my kitchen.”
Her expression is nothing short of defeated. Finally, she nods and says, “Okay, well—”
“I’m yanking your chain,” I say, winking at her and sitting back down.
“Oh my God.” Her shoulders drop with relief. “I saw my career flashing before my very eyes with that picture in my portfolio.”
“The look on your face.” I clap my hands once and laugh, and she glares at me.
“I hate you,” she says.
“Do you, though?”
“Yep.”
“I don’t believe you.”
She rolls her eyes and says, “Eat that second hot dog in two bites like you did the first one. We have galleries to get to.”
“Sure thing, boss.”
I stuff my face with my second dog, and I can’t help noticing that not only does Indie not look mad at all, there’s a smile tugging on the corners of her lips.
Chapter Seventeen
Indie
* * *
“Where’s Anwoo?” Nolan whispers directly into my face.
I’m still half asleep when I open my eyes and move back a few inches so I can see him and figure out what’s going on.
“Aunt Rue? Isn’t she in the kitchen?”
He shakes his head.
“Maybe in the bathroom?”
“No. I can’t find Anwoo, Mommy.”
I pick my phone up from the nightstand and groan. It’s 4:52 a.m. No wonder I’m still so tired.
“Aunt Rue is sleeping,” I tell Nolan. “Let’s turn on a quiet-time show so Mommy can sleep a little bit longer.”
“I’m hungry.”
Leaning over, I reach into the nightstand drawer and take out a small plastic container of cereal puffs. I keep these in the drawer for the mornings he wakes me up this early; it’s basically still the middle of the night.
Once his cartoon is on and his snack is in hand, Nolan sits in the center of the bed to watch. I feel myself dozing back off to sleep immediately.
“Anwoo!” Nolan cries.
I groan, because it feels like I hardly got any more sleep. But when I pick up my phone, I see that it’s now a quarter past six. That’s when Rue gets up.
