“I got her now. You guys go have fun,” I say, and we start our trek to the parking lot.
Reese sulks at my side as we approach the Shake Shack near the entrance. Each of her grumbles poke at my patience, increasing in volume when I order her favorite banana and strawberry shake she usually orders at the cafe back in town. I finally break, slapping some money on the counter with unnecessary force.
I turn back to her, almost eye to eye in height. “What is your problem now?”
“You. You’re acting like you’re my babysitter.”
“I’m not.” I take the drink from the balding man whose eyes dart between Reese and me.
“Do you want some extra cherries?” he asks, like that would fix all our problems.
“No, thanks. She doesn’t like them.”
“Agh! That just proves my point,” she says, snatching the drink from my hand. “I’m standing right here and can answerfor myself. You always do this—you take over and boss me around.”
“Are you kidding me?Fine.Go ahead and tell the man you want the cherries then.” I step backward and gallantly gesture to the truck. “Be my guest.”
Her hands grip the Styrofoam cup, nearly popping the lid off. “Uh.”
“Go on. I’m waiting.”
“They’re on the house for you, miss,” the bald man says, grabbing an empty container.
“Ahem, well, I’ll pass this time. Not because he said so, but because it’s my choice.”
I raise a brow. “Or it’s because you just don’t like them like I said.”
She shrugs. “You’ll never know. Women are supposed to be a mystery.”
Stubbornness . . . plain and simple.
To avoid any more questions, she takes a long sip through the straw and her eyes flutter closed, savoring it. When she isn’t snarling at me, she’s almost angelic. Large, innocent eyes surrounded by thick lashes, golden wisps of hair framing her face, a dainty nose, and full lips always covered in some fruity-smelling lip gloss.
The sheen on her mouth distracts me for a moment as I wonder what flavor she has on today. She rarely wears the same one two days in a row and collects them like some women collect shoes.
“Are you feeling better now?”
She slurps through the straw and nods.
Maybe I should carry extra snacks or candy for emergency-Reese-moments like this.
We’re almost to the parking lot when I hear her clear her throat to get my attention.
“Yeah?” I tilt my head toward her.
She avoids direct eye contact, focusing on the collar of my jacket. It takes her a few seconds to get the words out, like she’s taking a spoonful of medicine.
“Thank you for the drink. You didn’t have to, but I’m grateful that you did?—”
“You’re welcome.”
“—and also for picking me up on such short notice. I know weekends are crazy at the bar, so I appreciate it?—”
“You’re welcome.”
“—which leads me to the boutique when you were helping me with my dress?—”
“You’re welcome.”
