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I dig around in my purse, wondering just how much cash I have left. I would be absolutely mortified to have my card declined in front of my ex-husband.
I find Davis at the cash register among the rain-soaked patrons, paying for his order. His thick, long fingers tighten around his paper coffee cup and he gives me a thin smile when I join him.
“I, uh, hope I wasn’t being presumptuous, but I bought you that smoked brisket sandwich you used to like. With crunchy onions and mustard. Is that still how you like it?” He almost looks hesitant to say that.
The way my stomach flips itself upside down almost makes me dizzy. “Oh, uh. You didn’t have to—”
“Davis…?” I’m saved by the cashier calling his name and holding up several greasy bags of food in his direction.
But my ex-husband doesn’t budge. He’s standing there with his cautious gaze pointed at me, waiting for my response and unapologetically holding up the line of patrons waiting to pay.
I clear my throat. “Y-yes. That’s still how I like it. Thank you,” I say, almost embarrassed by how awkward I’m being.
Him remembering my weird favorites and going out of his way to order for me? Geez. With the headspace I’m in, I’m not sure I can handle this right now.
If he notices my discomfort, he doesn’t mention it. He finally takes the bags from the cashier and tosses his change into her tip jar. “Are you ready to go?”
I accept my food from his hand. “Yes. Thank you.”
With my hood pulled over my head, I follow him back to the Jeep. I suck in another deep breath, hoping my lungs will eventually get the message and start working properly again. We climb inside and hit the road, not saying another word.
I hungrily dive into my sandwich. I’m trying to keep a low profile, eating quietly in the passenger seat. But I find myself having to open wide to chomp into the too thick sandwich. And is it just me, or are these crunchy onionsextraloud? Between every bite, I self-consciously blot at the mustard that makes a mess across my mouth.
This sandwich may be delicious but it’s not exactly the kind of meal you want to eat in front of a guy. Even anex-guy.
I catch Davis watching me out of the corner of his eye, trying not to grin. I’m sure that, to him, I look as ridiculous as I feel.
“Stop it,” I mutter, my own smile growing as I chew.
“Stop what?” His innocent act isn’t fooling me.
“Stop laughing.”
“Not laughing.”
Silence.
And then, an explosive laugh bursts from his nose.
And then, I’m sputtering with laughter, too.
There’s a tingly feeling right in the middle of my chest. Despite the weirdness between us, a sort of familiarity hovers in the air as we share a laugh.
That was something that always came easily between us. Laughter. Unhinged, uncontrollable, unending laughter. God, I’ve missed it.
“That was thoughtful of you.” I motion to the massive sandwich I’m struggling not to drop all over his leather seats. “Thanks again.”
“No problem.”
Just then, his phone dings with a text message. And before I can stop myself, my eyes flit to the screen where it’s sitting in the cupholder between us. A name flashes across the screen.
Candace.
Right. Candace. His girlfriend.
When Davis looks at the screen, his smile slowly dissipates, melting off the corners of his lips. He ignores the message.
All laughter flees the scene and a pang of sadness echoes in my chest.
