Gaze still on me, Connor says, “Yeah, they do.”
Like words on a chalkboard, my objections disappear one letter at a time until all that’s left is dust and us.
Windows down and music up, we breeze along the Blue Ridge Highway. It’s so beautiful here, I cannot fathom the kind of pain Connor endured growing up. I shift in my seat so I’m facing him slightly—this big, brawny man. A man I admire for pulling himself out of that situation and making a life for himself, even if he was a bit of a butt-baring brute at times. A brutish beast that I think I don’t not love. A sigh escapes as I let myself realize this itty-bitty fact.
Because I cannot help myself, I say, “My, my Mr. Wolfe, what big eyes you have.”
His lips twist with a smile as he glances at me. “Better to see you with, my Kitty Cat.”
“And what big hands...”
His fingers tighten on the steering wheel as if he’s resisting reaching out and placing them on me.
“And what big teeth.”
He chuckles. “Speaking of, I’m hungry. Otto’s, just down the street here, has the best burgers, Miss Berghier,” he says with perfect pronunciation. “Care to join me for dinner?”
“It would be my pleasure.”
We stop at a roadside stand with tattered menus taped on the windows, serving burgers, hot dogs, fries, onion rings, and about thirty kinds of ice cream. Connor orders us each a Blue RidgeBurger and one order of French fries and onion rings, plus two milkshakes.
We wait by the pickup window, and I ask, “Hungry?”
“Hungry like a bear. I got us each a milkshake, but you have to share yours because I couldn’t decide which one I wanted. The mint cookie is amazing, but so is the chocolate banana strawberry.” With a sigh, he adds, “I forgot how much I love it here.” He looks around sentimentally.
“How do you know I’m willing to share?”
“Think of it as marriage prep. You’ll have to get used to sharing. Milkshakes, passwords, life.”
“Connor, we’re not?—”
The girl at the pick-up window calls our number.
We each take a tray and I lead us to an empty picnic table with an umbrella.
“Uh, could we sit over there?” he asks.
“I need a little shade. I’m not used to the strong sun and humidity here.”
“Oh, right.” He hesitates and then sits, placing the tray with our food at an odd angle.
I draw it between us. He slides it back into place. I bring it closer and he pushes it back to where it was.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
“Um, we can take our food off the tray and leave it there.” His tone is shady, like he’s hiding something.
“But the table is dirty. I’d rather have the tray between us.”
“You’re so fussy.”
“Says the guy who wants to marry me,” I tease.
“Alright, alright. Fine.” To my surprise, he relents.
I set the tray between us and we dig in. The hamburger is cooked medium rare and is topped with bacon, caramelized onions, and blue cheese.
I’m halfway done when Connor says, “You like it?”
