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“I might be developing an allergy to food served out of moving vehicles,” Holden deadpanned, eyeing the chalkboard menu written in brightly colored chalk. I barely spared it a glance, knowing the menu items almost by heart.
“Hardy-har-har, hilarious. I hope that you’re prepared to eat your words,” I warned him. I added nachos to my mental list as I watched one of the workers hand out a tray piled high with them. They had an effect on my body similar to that of Holden’s hand on my lower back, and I realized that my love of food from a truck had probably reached an unhealthy level.
Real estate in Savannah could be incredibly pricey, so food trucks had become a work-around to avoid paying an exorbitant rent. This meant that some of the best food in the city was being served out of trucks. OmegaVs frequently paid to have food trucks park outside the building for employees, events we all looked forward to.
It was a few more minutes before we reached the front of the line to order. I was pleasantly surprised at how easy it was to make small talk with Holden, and relieved there was no lingering awkwardness or tension between us. The more time I spent with him, the more I wanted us to be friends.
“I’ll have the everything-but-the-kitchen-sink nachos, the taco smorgasbox, and two churros,” I ordered for us, then turned to look at Holden and asked, “Anything else?”
“Is there anything left on the menu?” he joked, glancing over the menu before adding, “I’ll have two tostadas, one with chicken and one with beef, please.”
The cashier told us the total for our order, and I opened my clutch to retrieve my debit card. Card in hand, I looked up to see Holden passing his own card to the cashier.
“Oh no, I got it,” I protested, waving my card to get the cashier’s attention. “Seriously, Holden, this was my idea, and I did basically order one of everything on the menu.”
“Don’t worry about it. I owed you for getting me out of the rest of the fundraiser,” he replied.
My stomach sank at his response. Somewhere between the hotel lobby and the food truck, I had clearly misinterpreted Holden’s offer to drive me home. I’d thought he was seizing the chance to spend time with me, but he was just trying to escape a miserable evening too.
“Well, thank you. For the foodandthe ride,” I managed, the words feeling sour in my mouth.
We walked down to the end of the truck where the food was served. Holden looked utterly bamboozled by the whole experience, and I found it strangely endearing. By the time our order number was called, every table in the square was filled with people.
“Let’s take this back to my apartment,” I suggested, grabbing extra napkins and plastic utensils. “It’s just around the corner, so you can leave your car parked here if you want.”
“Lead the way,” Holden responded, taking the smorgasbox of tacos from my overflowing arms and nodding at a beverage store down the street. “Let’s stop here first and grab a bottle of wine.”
“Are you afraid I’m going to offer you another bottle of discount grocery wine?” I teased, walking in the direction of the store.
“Absolutely. I had third-degree burns in my mouth and throat after drinking your dollar-bin wine,” he fired back, sounding alarmingly serious.
I laughed, walking through the sliding doors and into the liquor store. The blasting AC sent a chill down my spine after spending so long in the humid night air. Another reminder of how much I was not looking forward to the summer heat.
“God, you really are such a snob,” I teased, the laughter in my voice taking all harshness out of the insult.
“I’m not a snob. I just prefer not to have blisters in my throat.”
After he purchased a bottle of wine that cost more than my entire wine budget for a year, we made the short trek to my apartment. Holden balanced all the food in his arms as I unlocked my apartment door. He set the food down on the kitchen counter, and I took out my phone to text Max to let her know I had made it back safely, although I suspected she was too involved with Richard to be paying attention to her phone.
“Yes!” I exclaimed, catching a glimpse of the time on the screen as I hitsend. I hustled to the couch, tossed my phone down, and proceeded to dig between each cushion looking for the TV remote.
“What’s happening here?” Holden asked, brows furrowed but lips tipped up in the smallest of smiles.
“I just remembered that I have a new episode ofPrison Wife to Real Life. Aha!” I called out victoriously when my hand connected with something square and plastic-feeling. I pulled out the remote, holding it up for Holden to see before turning to the TV and pressing the power button.
“I’m sorry, did you just sayPrison Wife to Real Life?” I nodded my head in confirmation, turning the TV to the right channel. “I’m not familiar with that program.”
“It’s a show about women who meet and marry men in prison, and they follow the couple after he is released. It’s a total mess. You’re going to love it!” I proclaimed, ignoring his very skeptical expression and walking back to the table to grab the food. “You are so lucky you have me around to introduce you to all the finer things in life.”
Holden helped me collect the food, then followed me to the coffee table where I unceremoniously started unpacking things.
“Are we eating here?” he asked, glancing longingly at the table.
“Yep, we’ll be dining...” I hesitated, trying to think of a fancier phrase for an indoor picnic but coming up empty. “Picnic-style this evening. Add that to the list of fine things I’m introducing you to tonight, right after food from a truck and trashy reality shows.”
I bent down to remove my shoes, wiggling my toes and letting out a groan of pure relief. I straightened, heels dangling from one hand, to find Holden’s eyes fastened intently on me. He cleared his throat, turning his attention to unpacking the food before I could get a read on his expression.
I walked to the kitchen to grab us plates and wine glasses. Opening the cabinet, I spied the only wine glasses that weren’t currently sitting in the dishwasher with the other dirty dishes. I wanted to close my eyes and bang my head on the counter, but instead I retrieved the two plastic wineglasses I had puff-painted for a bachelorette party. My Southern lady ancestors were all simultaneously rolling over in their graves at my myriad of failures as a hostess. Thank God I hadn’t taken the one Max had covered in puff-painted penises. The two cups I’d made had “Bridesmaid” puff-painted on them, along with diamond rings scattered all around.
