I laugh, pulling her closer and kissing her forehead. "I love that you want to come with me."
"Well, I suppose it's time I learned what all the mustard fuss is about." She chuckles, then settles against me with a sigh. "And you know what? I think I will have that coffee."
45
LIV
"Are we almost there yet?" Danny calls from the backseat, his voice barely audible over the wind whipping through the convertible and the absolutely chaotic playlist he's curated for our road trip.
Blair and I burst into laughter—it's become our running joke over the past two days. Danny asks this question approximately every forty minutes, always with perfect comedic timing, usually right after he's spotted some roadside attraction that demands investigation.
"Danny!" I shout back, turning in my seat to grin at him. "You literally just asked that when we passed through Terre Haute and you saw the sign for the Clabber Girl Museum!" Of course we had to stop there. Blair set a fifteen-minute time limit. We were there for two hours. Danny now owns a commemorative baking powder tin and knows more about leavening agents than most pastry chefs.
He's clutching a bright yellow balloon shaped like a giant corn kernel—a souvenir from our inexplicable two-hour detour to the World's Largest Ball of Paint in Alexandria, Indiana. Danny had seen the sign from the highway and declaredit "essential educational material" for his ongoing project of documenting "unusual American achievements." Who were we to argue with that logic?
"I don't actually care anymore how long it takes to get to the mustard museum," Danny announces, his balloon bobbing wildly in the wind. "I'm having so much fun and I wish our road trip could last forever!"
My heart melts. Danny's pure joy is infectious—he approaches everything with the enthusiasm of someone discovering the world for the first time, even though he's probably traveled more than most people I know.
"According to the GPS, we've got about five more hours," Blair says, reaching over to squeeze my knee. "Assuming we don't make any more educational stops."
"Famous last words," I mutter, because I've learned that Danny has an uncanny ability to spot the most bizarre roadside attractions from impossible distances.
The current song ends, and suddenly we're listening to what sounds like polka music mixed with death metal. I crane my neck to look at Danny again. "What exactly is this playlist based on?"
"Songs that make me happy!" he replies, as if this explains the jarring transition from Taylor Swift to whatever Germanic nightmare is currently assaulting our eardrums. "This one is from a documentary I watched about competitive accordion playing. Did you know that the accordion was invented in 1829 and that the largest accordion ensemble ever assembled had 625 players?"
"I definitely did not know that."
Blair catches my eye and grins. We've developed a silent communication during our drive. It's been the three of us in this bubble of road trip magic, and I've never felt more... content.
The barbecue at Blair’s mother's house was wonderful. She and John treated me with such warmth that I almost cried into my potato salad. When her mother pulled me aside to help with dessert, she'd squeezed my hand and said, "I haven't seen Blair this happy in years. Thank you for that."
I'd wanted to explain that I wasn't sure what we were doing, that we were taking things day by day without promises or expectations. But watching Blair help John flip burgers while Danny regaled them with statistics about the optimal meat-to-char ratio, I realized that maybe not everything needs to be defined or categorized.
"Olivia!" Danny's voice cuts through my reverie. "Do you want to hear about why I picked the mustard museum?"
"Always," I say, because I've learned that encouraging Danny's enthusiasms is one of life's great pleasures.
"So I was watching this travel show about weird museums in America, and they showed this place that has thousands of different mustards from all over the world. And the guy running it was wearing a yellow suit and had a mustard-colored mustache, and I thought, This man is basically a mustard superhero. Plus they have a 'Mustard Tasting Bar' which is like a regular bar but way more fun. And I can eat really sharp mustard so I want to try all of them."
"A mustard bar," I repeat. "So instead of ordering a whiskey neat, you order a... Dijon on the rocks?"
"Exactly!" Danny shouts, completely missing my sarcasm. "And I've been practicing my mustard vocabulary. Watch this." He clears his throat dramatically. "This Grey Poupon has excellent mouth-feel with hints of white wine and a robust finish."
Blair nearly swerves off the highway laughing. "Danny, you sound like a sommelier having a breakdown."
"What's a sommelier?" Danny asks.
"A wine expert," I explain, suspecting he will now want to know everything about wine even though he doesn’t like it.
"Oh! So I'll be a... mustard-elier! I'm putting that on my business cards.” Danny looks so pleased with himself that I can't help but snort-laugh.
"I've already planned our tasting strategy,” he continues. “We start with the mild yellow mustards to establish a baseline, then progress through the honeys and herbs, build up to the spicy varieties, and finish with the experimental flavors like chocolate mustard and beer mustard."
"You've really thought this through," I say.
"Danny always has a system," Blair chips in. "Remember when you organized Mom's entire spice cabinet by color, region, and frequency of use?"
