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I look up at her quickly, “people do that?”
She shrugs in response.
“Some people.”
“Check,” I say, turning back to Mysti.
She leans over, pulling at the kid’s bear hood while he squirms and laughs in front of her.
“Oh, stop wiggling,” she mumbles, straining to find the tag.
“Oh, shit,” she yells a second later, “there’s actually something here!”
“What?” I nearly turn my chair, I stand so fast. “What does it say?”
“It’s a name and an address!”
I roll my eyes.
“What does it say?”
“Eva Smit, 201 Molensteeg.” She answers slowly, badly over-pronouncing the street name. “Where the fuck is that?”
“I’m on it.” Sammi answers, hurriedly whipping out her cell phone.
A second later, our waiter reemerges from the kitchen carrying a busy tray like a pro.
I begrudgingly sit back down, my fingers impatiently tapping against the tabletop.
The kid spies our food immediately, bouncing up and down in excitement.
He digs in the second his plate touches the table, tiny hands both clasping what appear to just be really thin waffles.
Who knew?
I stare disinterestedly at them. Really, carbs just no longer hold any appeal for me.
“These are fucking amazing!” someone mumbles.
I turn to find Becky, half a stroopwafel already crammed into her mouth.
“Have mine,” I say, pushing my plate toward her.
She smiles widely, pulling the offering the rest of the way to her.
I watch in amazement as she devours the crispy waffles, crumbs cascading around her. She’s probably got half a waffle lodged between her tits at this point. I bite my tongue to keep from laughing.
Truly though, I’m fucking impressed.
“Got it!” Sammi suddenly shouts, slamming a fist on the table in triumph.
It’s about time.
“Awesome,” I say. “Where are we going?”
She smiles back at me mischievously.
“The red light district.”
