“Who said we’re on a date?” Tate asked, smiling. “We’re not talking, remember? We’re nothing but acquaintances who are barely friends.”
“Friends who eat at Cracker Barrel?”
“Friends who enjoy breakfast for dinner, crave hashbrown casserole, and love the nostalgia…”
Tate yanked his helmet off, holding the bike steady as she awkwardly climbed off again – this time remaining standing. He adjusted the handlebars, moving the wheel a bit, and put his helmet on the bike, before reaching for hers – which she’d just removed.
“Cracker Barrel,” she repeated flatly, her voice tinged with disbelief.
“My favorite - and nobody will recognize me,” he said simply – and took her hand like they were the best of friends.
Pulling her inside, she was instantly flooded with memories as a child of sticks of candy, the little triangle board games with pegs, and her grandmother ordering her favorite meal with the tiny little corn muffins. She swallowed back the lump in her throat, missing her in that moment… and wishing she could ask her for advice like Tate had his own parents.
“I hope you know we’re not leaving here without some cherry sticks,” she warned, pointing at the jars of different flavored candies.
“Your cherry sticks – and my buckeyes,” he smiled and winked at her, pulling her forward again toward the hostess stand. “Two, please – by the fireplace, if it’s burning.”
“Yes, sir.”
Nettie followed Tate as they were quietly seated at a nearby table with the fireplace roaring about ten feet from them. He sat down, handed her a menu, and began looking at his own – all the while, not saying a word.
“What are we doing here?”
“I plan on eating,” he said simply. “If I’m eating, then I’m not talking about us.”
“You’re mocking me.”
“No, I’m abiding by your wishes but indulging in some of my own.”
“And what’s that – going out with me?”
“We’re not dating, remember?” he said without looking up from his menu. “Hashbrown casserole – and a platter of home-cooked food.”
“Ugh,” she huffed in frustration, blocking him out with her own menu. “Fine. We’ll do this your way.” Her eyes flicked over the menu and briefly glanced up to see him holding up his menu, but his eyes met hers every time, causing her to look away. As the waitress arrived at their table a few moments later, she smiled sweetly at them.
“Y’all want some coffee?”
“Please,” Tate said.
“Iced tea,” Nettie replied, biting her tongue because she had to be different. She was craving a hot cup of coffee, but refused to order the same thing as him.
“Are you sure, honey? I saw y’all getting off that motorcycle, and I know you must be cold…” the waitress said politely. “Would you prefer a hot apple cider?”
“Coffee is fine,” Nettie muttered – and looked away from Tate’s knowing smile. As the waitress left, she unfurled her napkin just to keep herself busy and stop looking at him. What was it about the cursed man that drew her to him like a magnet? He was bitter, grumpy, almost always snapping at people, and she looked up to see him watching her with a gentleness that was surprising. “What?”
“I can’t tell what I like more,” he said simply, picking up the pegboard game that was on every table. “The fire flickering over there – or the one in your eyes…”
“Are you coming onto me?” she asked, squinting at him skeptically.
“I was commenting on the fire,” he shrugged evasively and focused on playing his game. She watched silently for a few moments and then started to open her mouth – before shutting it. “What?”
“Nothing.”
“You were going to say something,” he prompted.
“But we’re not talking,” she said loftily, crossing her arms and turning her head away. “Even if you are missing an obvious move.”
“Show me.”
