A way home.
“No, I think that’s it,” Claire says, looking down at her food.
“All good here,” I say. “The plain French toast is perfect. Good choice.” I throw her a wink, and she blushes. Giggling like a school girl, she leaves and walks over to another table.
Leaning forward with my fork, I steal a piece of the bread off Claire’s plate.
“Food stealer,” she quips, slapping at my wrist as a laugh bubbles out of her.
These are the moments I wish I could hold onto. I like making her laugh, and every time her face falls, I desperately want to make the negative feelings go away—want to see her smile.
“I knew it,” she accuses.
A wide grin paints my face, and she rolls her eyes.
“What? She gave me plain. I wanted to try the eggnog.”
“Then you should’ve ordered it.”
“Where’s the fun in that?”
“Nothing is fun about this situation.”
“I’m having fun.” I chuckle, running the piece of toast through the syrup before putting it in my mouth.
Her eyes flick upward, and she shakes her head.
“Where were we before I got those texts?” she asks, picking at some of the whipped cream on the edge of the plate. “Oh! Spirit of the town and whatever the hell it means.”
“Well, what do we know about the town?”
“Stella put us here. It looks like a Christmas card. We’re married.” She spins the rings on her fingers and I watch, mesmerized by the movements of her delicate hands. “People seem to know us. There’s a town square with…” She counts the shops we saw earlier on her fingers. “Nine shops.”
“Maybe we have to get to know the people here?” I shrug. “Like those girls texting you, maybe we befriend them.”
“No, that doesn’t make sense.” She runs her hands through her hair, and once again I’m hypnotized by her movements. Pulling out the schedule Stella gave us from her pocket, she studies it.
“You think it’s the competition?”
“Maybe,” she says, biting her lip. “But why?”
“Could she have brought us here because they needed people to judge it.”
Seems like a whole lot of trouble, but Stella doesn’t seem like the type of person to do things simply.
Her eyes scan the paper, and I sip my latte, swallowing down the sweet liquid.
“Ha!” I laugh. “Could you imagine if she brought us all the way here just because no one else wanted to be the judges. Talk about going through a lot of trouble just to pick a winner.”
“Yeah, I don’t think that’s it.”
I reach for the schedule. “Can I see that?”
She nods, handing it to me. I do my best to make sense of what I’m reading, but the answer to getting us home doesn’t seem to be on this piece of paper.
“This sucks. I wish I could call my sister,” she says, picking at her toast.
“Is that who you tried to call this morning?” I ask.
