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“Yeah!”
“I love pumpkin pie. It’s one thing Rae and I make sure to get from the store at Thanksgiving.” I chuckle. “You know, because I don’t trust myself to bake it properly.”
He chuckles, too. “God, I need to work on your confidence in the kitchen.”
“Mmhmm, well, where’s that biscuit recipe you said you’d share with me?”
I can’t see the music note I brushed the flour off of that one morning, but I still look at his arm because I remember where it was.
After I relive those few moments—him shivering and gazing at me and telling me not to be sorry—I look at his face again. A bit of heat rises to my cheeks as I realize he’s been watching me; I know he knows what’s in my head.
A little more quietly than before, he says, “I promise to get you the recipe as soon as we get back home.”
I lift my shoulders and admit in kind, “Okay, but…I like the wayyoudo them.”
The corners of his lips turn up. “You’d like it better if I made them for you?”
“Yeah. Not because I’m lazy. Just because….” My shoulders drop and I clear my throat. “Just because.”
He gets another fry and points it at me this time. “Well, if that’s what you want, then that’s what I’ll do.”
Nodding, I get my burger in my hands. Before I take a bite, I ask, “So is there somewhere I can get pumpkin beer in a bottle?”
He nods, too. “Oh, yeah. It’s a popular thing. You can get it pretty much anywhere.”
“Hmm,” I hum around my food.
I wonder if we could get some. I haven’t had a drink since I got Rae, and I’m intrigued by this stuff. But I’d want to take it home because I’m sure Landon would partake, too, if we got something here or from Kinley’s, and I don’t want either of us driving after even one drink.
Once I’ve swallowed my bite, I ask, “Do you think you’d like to share any with me?”
“Sure,” he says easily.
“At home, though,” I clarify. “Pumpkin beer may be‘killer’straight from the tap, but neither of us needs to drink and drive.”
“I couldn’t agree more. We can definitely find some good stuff at the store.”
Excited to try something else that’s new, I grin at him and take another bite of my burger. In a rather unladylike way, I say around it, “Thith burger ith tho good.”
And then a piece of something falls out of my mouth. My eyes widen as rapidly as I hide my lips with my burger.
Landon busts out laughing.
“Oh my God,” I muffle out, mortified, cheeks burning.
He doesn’t look disgusted or anything, though, only deeply amused.
“That reminds me,” he manages to say, “of the other night when Rae was too busy thinking about dance dresses to get her spaghetti in her mouth.”
I laugh, too, at the memory of glimpsing several saucy noodles drooping right off her fork and into her lap while she stared into space.
“The look on her face was priceless!” he says. “Just like yours right now!”
I get my food chewed up before I order him on a chuckle, “Don’t make fun of me, Landon Wintermute!”
“Oh, I’m not. I’m one hundred percent enjoying your adorableness.” He chuckles, too, and glances at the wall next to us. I just know he’s imagining where Rae was at our table at home. Indeed, he recalls, “She looked at the spaghetti and then looked at meso slowly….” He dissolves into full laughter again.
I do, too, because his laughter is contagious—and, of course, because Rae can be downright hilarious.
