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Thomas and I fall silent again, but it’s less tense this time, more contemplative. Almost companionable, and I’m surprised that instead of grating on my nerves, the classical music becomes more enjoyable the more we listen to it. In fact, it’s so relaxing I feel myself getting borderline sleepy until a sign on the highway catches my eye.
“Hey!” I press my finger to the window. “That little burger place is around here, right?”
As part of our planning process for the weekend, Thomas and I had come up with a couple of recommended food stops and scenic view recommendations to make the ask of people driving five hours a little less daunting. A cute roadside burger stand in a red barn and seasonal decor was one of the suggestions.
“You hungry?” he asks. It’s barely eleven.
“A little. You?”
“I could eat.”
I pick up his phone to type in the Burger Barn to his Maps app, and we let Siri work her navigational magic.
“Oh my gosh,” I say as he turns into the gravel parking lot. “It’s even better than it looks on Instagram!”
“Pretty sure that’s the first time that statement’s ever been uttered,” Thomas says, pulling into an empty spot.
The barn looks exactly like what I think a barn should look like. Big and red, with just enough fading and wear-and-tear to look like the real thing rather than a prop piece. You can’t actually enter the barn; the doors are the counter where you order the food, but it doesn’t matter because the eating area in front is just as charming.
There are picnic tables, but instead of benches, they’ve got bales of hay. There are pumpkins in every color, scarecrows, and though we’re past peak leaf season thanks to a cold, early autumn, the ground is covered in crunchy brown leaves that beg for boots and hot chocolate.
Basically, it’s a little slice of Fall Heaven.
“I’ll order, you just keep gawking,” he says with a slight smile, since I already have my phone out, trying to frame up the perfect shot. “Burger?”
“Cheeseburger. Onion rings if they have them. Milkshake.”
“Flavor?”
“Surprise me,” I say, zooming in on an artistic corn bouquet.
When I’ve captured all of the cutest parts of the place, I grab my coat out of the trunk, then grab Thomas’s as well. I see plenty of people eating in their car, given the cold weather, but I’m hoping he won’t mind bundling up and eating at one of the tables.
I find us a table in the sun, and he joins me carrying a red tray piled high with burgers, fries, onion rings and two milkshakes.
He points at them. “Peanut butter chocolate, and birthday cake. Take your pick.”
I take a cup in each hand.
“By all means, have both,” he says dryly as I try one flavor, then the other.
“We’ll share them,” I declare. “They’re too good to limit ourselves to one.”
“Sure. What’s a few shared germs among proclaimed enemies,” Thomas replies as he lifts a cheeseburger and hands it to me.
“Exactly.” Except we don’t feel like enemies, not in this little slice of autumn wonderland, the crisp October chill softened by the warm sunshine.
The food is everything I want it to be. The burger is juicy, the fry crispy, the onion ring hot and greasy. I wash down another fry with a sip of milkshake, and let out a happy sigh.
Thomas looks pretty contented himself as he dunks a fry in ketchup, and then studies me as he chews. “You want to talk about it?”
“It being . . .”
“V-Cut bailing on you?” I’ve just bitten into an onion ring, and I freeze for a moment, before resuming chewing. Taking my time.
“Do you want to talk about why Anna isn’t here?” I ask it rhetorically, maybe a little bit antagonistically, but he merely wipes his finger on the napkin on his knee and picks up the chocolate peanut butter milkshake. “Sure.”
I try to hide my surprise. And my eagerness to know why she’s not here.
“We’re not seeing each other anymore,” he says.
“Oh. What happened?”
Please don’t be heartbroken.
The thought comes out of nowhere, and the ache it leaves in my chest is both strong and confusing.
“Nothing dramatic,” Thomas answers. He takes another bite of burger. “Things had been cooling off for a while. Actually . . .” He chews. “I’m not sure they ever heated up in the first place. We never really got past that first date stage. You know?”
I narrow my eyes. “What do you mean, you know? Like, I specifically know?”
“Stand down, Mac. Turn of phrase. Interesting reaction though,” he says lightly, almost teasingly.
It is an interesting reaction. Not so long ago, I sort of prided myself for being “above” women who freak out about a guy not calling the next day, but for some reason, I have this bizarre desire for him to see me differently.
