The smoke from the grill and clatter from the kitchen melded with loud conversation and music, washing over them as they approached the counter. “How old are you?” Gideon asked, praying she didn’t say something that ended with ‘teen.’ Megs didn’t look or act like a nineteen-year-old, but he’d learned never to make assumptions.
“Twenty-five. My birthday’s in the summer.”
He breathed a sigh of relief. Twenty-five was still young, but socially acceptable. Not that he wouldn’t date someone younger if it was the right fit, he just didn’t believe it would be. He was stable. He owned an apartment and had worked the same job for years, not months. It was too difficult to try to build a relationship with someone who wasn’t at that stage of their life.
Gideon looked up at Megs, watching her as she scanned the off-kilter letters on the menu board above the registers. Based on what she’d said both at the coffee shop and in his office, she was still figuring things out.So why hadn’t he gotten in his car at Champlain and driven home?
She put her hands on her hips. “What do you recommend to avoid dysentery?”
"If your previous assessment of your hunger level was accurate, I'd suggest the double bacon cheeseburger. And the garlic fries are a must."
“Is that what you’re getting?”
“I’m feeling the chili burger tonight.”
Megs wrinkled her nose. “Like chili, chili?”
Gideon laughed. “I’m not sure how to respond to that.” The employee waved for them to move forward and order, and Megs took his advice, adding a chocolate raspberry shake to his recommendations. He couldn’t wait to see her face when she saw the size of the burger. If she could eat more than half of it, he’d be impressed.
When Megs pulled out her wallet, Gideon leaned in and said, “I’ve got it,” then gave the employee his order. He took their ticket and waited off to the side.
“You didn’t have to do that.” Megs fiddled with the strap of her bag.
“I couldn’t let you pay for your own gastrointestinal bug.”
Megs snorted, scanning for an open booth. “Ooh! Go!” She nudged him when an older couple began to gather up their trash. They swooped in and sat.
Megs set her purse on the bench next to her. “So. Tell me more about yourself, Prof—Gideon.”
Gideon leaned back and exhaled. “My story isn’t very exciting.” She tilted her head to the side as if to say,I doubt that. “I grew up in Burlington. Parents still live up north.”
“Siblings?”
“Three. I’m the oldest.”
“Of course you are,” she muttered.
His eyes narrowed. “What do you mean by that?”
“Nothing, continue.” She clasped her hands on the table in front of them and pursed her lips in a secretive smile. He let it go only because he wasn’t sure how far he could press her yet.
“I wanted to go into music production, and I still do some of that on the side, but eventually found myself getting a master's degree and working at Champlain.”
“Seems college was right for you.” Megs looked down at the table.
Gideon crossed his arms and leaned in. “Don’t do that.” Megs’ self-deprecating smile slipped. “Don’t pretend I’m better than you because I got a degree.”
“Multiple degrees.”
He shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. It was a thing I did because it made sense, not because I’m somehow more intelligent or noble.”
Megs fixed her eyes on him, a slow smile starting at the corners of her mouth. “So you’re not passionate about inspiring the future generations?”
“I enjoy teaching, but passionate?” Gideon shook his head. “That got beaten out of me a long time ago.”
She opened her mouth to say something, then glanced down at their ticket as an employee called out a number. “That’s us.”
Gideon stood to retrieve their tray, and when he sat back down, Megs stared at the monstrosity in front of her.
