“You mean you wish I ditched you,” Ryder smirks, handing over the small bouquet. I bring the flowers to my nose, closing my eyes and inhaling the light, sweet scent. That gaudy little chapel in Las Vegas flashes through my mind, as does the brief memory of Ryder’s lips on mine after we said ‘I do’.
Lilies only for my beautiful bride.
“No,” I answer, my voice soft and breathy as I stare down at the flowers in my hand. “I’m really glad we’re here together.”
And for the first time, I feel a lightness in my chest when I realize I’m actually telling the truth.
Inside the small restaurant, I sit back and listenas Ryder speaks flawless Spanish with the server, awed when two glass bottles of Coke and the biggest basket of salty tortilla chips with a variety of salsas for dipping appear on the table not a moment later.
“How do you do that?” I ask, grabbing a shiny, still warm chip and using it to scoop a dollop of guacamole.
“Order food? It’s simple, Marshmallow. I think about what I’d like to eat and then I ask for it. You should try it some time, it really makes the dining out experience worthwhile.”
Rolling my eyes, I flick the tortilla crumbs off my fingers in his direction while I finish chewing.
“The languages, Rye Bread. How do you know how to say all this stuff in so many different languages? I’ve heard you talk to the locals in every country we’ve been to. I could barely pass the Spanish requirement in our school curriculum.”
Ryder lifts a shoulder, swirling a chip in a ramekin of salsa verde.
“I don’t know, I’ve just got an ear for it, I guess.”
“But how does one discover that they have an ear for languages when they are being homeschooled by their twelfth birthday?”
“Well, the funny thing about being homeschooled because you’re being trained in a career that requirestravel is that you’re exposed to a lot of different cultures at a formative age.”
God, his arrogance is insufferable. Or at least it should be. I don’t know if it’s the gold band sparkling on his left ring finger or the way his eyes keep dropping to my throat, tracking the movement of my muscles every time I swallow, but today I’m finding that trademark Ryder arrogance more charming than anything.
“It’s not something I set out to do, learning a bunch of languages, but when you’re travelling the world and you’re interested in something new, you tend to pick it up,” he continues. “You’ve done it, too.”
I scoff, bringing the glass soda bottle to my lips. I take a sip, and goosebumps erupt over my flesh. It’s the real cane sugar variety, and the taste tickles my sweet tooth perfectly. I can practically feel the cavities forming as I take another swig.
Totally worth it.
“You have, Mabel. Look at you; you’re a foodie. Whenever we travel somewhere, the first thing you want to do is find something delicious and new. You immerse yourself in different cultures through your food, because you’ve developed a palate refined enough to appreciate the nuance in different sweet treats. It’s a skill you’ve honed. I do the same thingthrough language. My brain is good at processing words and phrases and dialects, so I use that skill to absorb the cultures of the world when we travel.”
I think of all the small shops we’ve gone to all over the world. The pastries, the gelato, the chocolates and delicacies I’ve eaten because Ryder either ordered them for me or brought them to me as gifts. Wherever we go, he seems to know what food I want to try without me having to tell him, and how he always manages to make sure I get it, no matter how busy we are or how quick our turnaround in any given spot is.
“Well, your skills come in handy,” I say as servers bring sizzling plates of meat, beans, and rice to the table. “You might like ordering for me so you can show off your mad, mad language skills, but as much as I hate to admit it, you know what you’re doing. This all looks amazing.”
Am I deflecting? Sure. It’s unsettling to realize that your best frenemy knows you better than you know yourself. And besides, who amongst us can focus on realizing how closely their accidental husband, who they might be crushing on, has been paying attention to them when there are steaming piles of delicious-smelling Mexican food in front of them?
I dig in, loading my plate with warm tortillas andpiling them high with chicken and rice. I moan around my first bite and when I look up, Ryder is staring at me with his chin in his palm, watching me eat like I’m his favorite TV show.
“I’m not peacocking, Mabel. I order for you because I know what you like, and I like knowing that I had a hand in putting that beautiful smile on your face.”
My sharp intake of breath surprises me, even as I feel my face heat from the blush spreading across my cheeks. With his free hand, Ryder reaches across the table and draws small circles on my arm with his fingertip. The touch lights me up, and even though I can see the not-so-subtle phone cameras being pointed our way in my peripheral vision, it’s too easy to fall into the fantasy where maybe, just maybe, my frenemy-turned-husband could become something real.
“This is a terrible idea, Rye Bread.”
“So you’ve said, Marshmallow.”
“We could get into so much trouble.”
“Were you or were you not bugging me just this morning about leaving you out? And besides, I think you and I have already reached the limit for howmuch trouble we can get into this year, don’t you, Mrs. Finch?”
“Do you know how annoying you are?”
“No, but if you hum a few bars, I can fake it.”
