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“Why’s that?” Nick asks. And why wouldn’t he?
“I’m not sure. I think it has something to do with the fact that I just left my job.”
“Oh.” Uh-oh, he’s got that concerned expression like Imani and Barista Brenda. So much for escaping that look.
“Yeah, it’s time for me to take the next step in my stand-up career. And so far, so good. I got this gig with you and an audition for The Late Night Show, which I’m sure will open a lot of doors for me. Don’t you think?”
“Yeah, assuming you get it.”
“Oh, I’m getting it,” I say.
He stares at me for a moment like he’s amused or maybe intrigued. “And what makes you so sure?”
“Because no one wants it as much as me.” I flash him a playful toothy grin.
“And who’s gonna say no to you.”
“Exactly. Have you ever done The Late Night Show?”
“No.” He shakes his head, tapping his fingers on the table to the beat of the song playing in the background. “But I have done other late-night television shows. I even have a thirty-minute special on The Comedy Channel.”
Boom! My mind is blown. “Wow, really? What’s it called?”
“Born to Run,” he says.
“Why’d you call it that?”
“You’ll have to watch it one day to find out,” he says, toying with me. I’ve got to see this special. “Anyway, it was a while ago.”
“That must have been an incredible experience.”
Nick shrugs modestly or uncomfortably. I can’t decide. At that moment, our food arrives at our table. The smell of Cajun fries tantalizes my nose. Mmm. I salivate like a dog about to chow down after waiting by the door for ten hours for someone to come home and feed him. I unwrap my burger and wet my lips before diving in. My teeth sink into the bread, through the tomato, onions, pickles, and cheese, down to the juicy beef patty. I manage to squeeze a hot fry in my mouth and let out a satisfactory moan. “Now we’re even,” I say.
He stuffs his face with a bite rivaling mine. “Oh, yeah?” For the minutes following, we don’t say a word, just munch on our lunch. Finally, he comes up for air. “I always forget about this place. I’m partial to Shake Shack.”
I nod, thinking of my last ShackBurger with Imani. “Shake Shack’s pretty good.”
“Pretty good? It’s the best.”
“Eh,” I say with a mouth full of the sweet-and-salty combo of shake and fries. Now that’s the best.
“Are you some kinda self-proclaimed burger aficionado?” he asks, and I take another big bite, smiling with stuffed cheeks. “You got a top pick?”
The first rule of being a burger aficionado is to know where to get the best burger. For me, there’s no question. It’s the only reason I’m looking forward to crossing the Texas border. I’ve already mapped out the locations near both comedy venues. “Definitely Whataburger.”
He wipes his mouth with a flimsy, grease-stained napkin. “What the hell’s a Whataburger?”
“Oh, you don’t know about them Texas burgers?” I say, doused with Southern sass.
“Is that where you’re from?” he asks, and I swallow hard, nodding. “Then how come you don’t have a hee-haw accent?”
I nearly spit out my beef with a laugh. “Excuse me? Hee-haw?”
“Yeah, you know, You dumbass Yankee, don’t even know how to change a tire,” he says, a dead ringer for Blanche from The Golden Girls. Not bad. For a Yankee anyway.
“You said it, not me.”
“Where’d you learn to change a tire anyway?”
My head must be flooded with dopamine from the free meal because without hesitation I spill a snippet from my past. “By-product of being a mechanic’s daughter.”
