“Try again.”
“Ummm…I don’t know. A latte?”
“I bet you’ll never guess it.” His lips curl into a smirk.
“Then why are you making me play this silly game?” I huff.
“Oh, come on.” His body bumps into mine as we move. “I’ll give you a hint. It’s a lot like me.”
I tap my chin pretending to think.
“Oh, I know! You like it black, just like your heart?”
“Hilarious,” he deadpans. “No. It’s a large whole milk latte, with three pumps of caramel, two pumps of vanilla, no whip, light foam, and caramel drizzle.”
“You’re joking.”
“Dead serious.”
“In what world would I be able to guess that drink?”
“I gave you a hint.”
“A bad one. How is that drink anything like you?”
“Because I’m really sweet.”
“Ha!” I roll my eyes and run my free hand through my hair. “A vanilla latte is sweet. Whatever you just listed only proves that you’re an incredibly high maintenance man.”
“Maybe. Or I just know what I want.” His eyes trail down my body, and he raises his eyebrows. Heat crawls up my neck and covers my face under his stare. I physically attempt to shake the effect he has on me away, but it doesn’t work.
“I thought you said you’d stop flirting with me.”
“Oh you meant forever?”
I clench my jaw, not sure what to say to him because honestly…I like the flirting. I like it more than I should, but I know we need to stay focused or we’ll never get home.
“Should we try our mystery drinks?” he asks.
“Sure.” I study my cup feeling grateful for the shift in our conversation. “You go first.”
“Ha! You would ask me to go first.”
“Who’s gonna get us back if I die,” I tease. “The best idea you’ve come up with is falling in love. We need me to live.”
He cuts his eyes at me, shaking his head and trying not to laugh.Hesitantly, he takes a sip from the cup and immediately grabs his throat.
“Uh…no…poison…ugh…” He sputters dramatically, falling to his knees in the snow and catching the attention of a few strangers walking by.
“Hilarious,” I deadpan, holding back a laugh. “You’re not funny.”
“Keep telling yourself that,” he says, standing and knocking the snow from his knees. “I think he switched them. This one is definitely yours. It’s gross.”
“Is not.” I giggle as we trade cups, each then taking a sip of the drink that should’ve been ours to begin with. “So, if you like sweets so much, which Christmas Extravaganza item do you think you’d like the most?”
“I think Chip’s peppermint bark.”
“Not Lolly’s?” I laugh.
