“That’s a thing?” A small wrinkle forms between his brow, and he frowns. “Why is that a thing?”
“If you’re going to build a water tower, why not build one that looks like a catsup bottle?” I pause, considering. “Personally, I’d have chosen an avocado. Or a big-ass ball of queso Oaxaca, but to each their own.”
“I literally have no words.”
He rubs his temples, probably wishing for a cup of obscenely expensive gourmet coffee to jolt him out of this nightmare.
It’s all the motivation I need.
“If you think that’s wild, wait until we get to Kansas.” I grin as the soda clerk places three bright red cherries on our banana split. “They have the world’s largest ball of twine.”
Miles shoots me an aggrieved look. “And we’re going to see this record-breaking ball of twine?”
“Do you really need to ask?”
“Yes, in hopes you might spare me at least one of these ridiculous roadside America experiences.” The server arrives, and Miles pauses just long enough for her to drop off our ice cream before he continues. “Seriously. What kind of person comes up with this stuff? The world’s largest ball of twine? Who cares?” He throws his hands up in disbelief, and I snort-laugh. I can’t help it. He’s normally so cool and collected, but he’s really wound up about the twine. “Is it any wonder so many Americans long to travel abroad? Europe has history. And culture. Not a giant ball of useless twine.”
This is probably the part where I should tell him I’m kidding, but he’s on a roll. Besides, technically, Kansasishome to the World’s Largest Ball of Twine. We just aren’t going to see it.
Not without adding an entire day to our trip.
Which, now that I think about it, might be worth it if it pushes Miles over the edge.
He grabs a spoon, but before he can dig in, I slide the banana split out of reach. “You know the rules.”
“How could I possibly forget?” He sets his spoon down and gestures to the overflowing ice cream dish, which has chocolate syrup dripping down the side.
I snap a few pics, praying today’s posts will garner more likes than yesterday’s.
They certainly can’t do any worse.
With that grim thought, I grab a spoon and dig in, fully prepared to eat my feelings.
The strawberry ice cream is everything. It melts on my tongue, tasting like summer itself, bringing back memories of freshly cut grass, lightning bugs, and nights spent on the porch swing because it was too damn hot to be indoors.
Things were so much simpler then.
Now I’m lusting after my boss, my future is hanging by a thread, and I’m wearing my last clean pair of underwear.
“Check this out.” Miles plucks a cherry off the top of the sundae and pops it into his mouth. He doesn’t chew, but his jaw works furiously, and the next thing I know, the cherry is resting in the palm of his hand with a tidy little knot in the stem. “Voilà!”
“That’s cool, but can you swallow a banana whole?”
His eyes go wide, and heat scorches my cheeks.
It’s a full-on five-alarm blaze.
No mames.Why the hell did I just say that?
I can’t even blame it on sleep deprivation because, unlike Miles, I slept like a baby.
“Really?” he asks. “You can do that?”
FML.“No, not really.”
I swear he looks disappointed.
He clears his throat, and for a second I think he might take pity on me and change the subject, but nope. “Then why did you say it?”
