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I slide Mattie one of my fries. "Dip this in your milkshake. It’s great."
Mattie quirks an eyebrow. "I’ve never done that before."
My jaw tumbles to the ground. "For a self-professed foodie, there are a lot of experiences you haven’t had."
Mattie bites his lower lip as his eyes tick to the side. "It’s tough affording decent meals in New York. You know this firsthand. You lived there when you worked in that coffee shop where we met—the cost of living is insane."
I neglect to mention that I wasn't really working there for the money—but I can still appreciate his point. "You can say that again."
"Every day is a struggle to put grub in my belly."
An expression of concern forms on my face. "Say it ain’t so."
"Itisso," Mattie laments, shaking his head. "I wish it weren't—I wish I didn't have to deal with food insecurity. As it stands, life isn’t easy."
My eyes lock on his. A breath hitches in my throat, clogging the passage to my lungs.
Mattie is a warrior, a fighter—but he has vulnerability, too.
I slide another fry toward him. "Eat your fries."
He makes a face. "I’m not going to dunk them in my milkshake."
"You’ll regret it if you don’t."
Reluctantly, he decides to humor me. "Tell me what to expect."
I bring my fingers to my chin. "A world of flavor."
"Well," he drawls, dazzling me with a wink, "I can get on board with that."
He dips a fry into his strawberry milkshake. Swirling it around, he brings it to his lips.
His eyes pop when he swallows. "That wasn’t bad."
"Have you had worse?" I growl.
A manly sound charges out of me faster than an F-5 fighter jet.
Deep. Menacing.Erection-inducing.
Mattie’s cheeks flush pinker than his milkshake. "Yeah."
Reaching out, I run my thumb up his wrist. "You deserve the best food. Milkshakes. Chicken sandwiches. Fettuccine Alfredo. That’s what you’ll get in Italy—buffets of the best sustenance known to humankind.Cornettiand berries for breakfast. Cappuccinos with dusted chocolate. It’ll help you recover from your kidnapping trauma—while I hunt down the men who took you."
Mattie squirms in his seat. "Chill, big guy."
A family to our left shoots us deadly glares. "You two need to go elsewhere."
"This is a Popeyes," the mother of the group snaps. "We’re trying to enjoy our motherfucking lunch and you're acting like fools."
I lock my hand through Mattie’s. "Tell me when you want to go back to the helicopter."
Mattie turns to the family. "Would you say the same to a man and woman? Or are you homophobic?"
The mother of the group taps her foot. "Hell yeah, I would. Little shit—close your damn mouth before I whoop your ass."
"Come on, Sue Ellen," the father growls, motioning for his family to stand up. "This isn’t a nuclear-family friendly establishment."
