The cashier, becoming my favorite person in the entirety of the South, rings up our purchases and takes the money without giving us her life story. And she does it quickly, so we can get out of here. She gets an extra generous tip in the tip jar.
“You have a great holiday, ma’am,” Beau says as he picks up the packages.
“Y’all too.” Chatty Cathy waves us off.
When we get back in the truck, I can’t hold it in anymore. “What was that all about?”
“What?” Beau starts the vehicle and backs out of the parking spot.
“Do you know her? Is she a long-lost aunt? A distant cousin?”
“What?”
“The woman in the line. Who told you everything about her daughter’s dating life? A lot of sharing happening.”
“She was just being friendly,” Beau says. I don’t know if he’s distracted by driving or if he genuinely doesn’t think this is weird. But I most certainly do think it’s weird. “We talk to the people we see out in the world down here. It’s called being polite.”
I curl my lip in distaste. “It sounds terrible.”
“There’s so many people in New York. Don’t you ever talk to each other?”
“Not when we’re clearly busy with other tasks. We respect other people’s time too much to bother them with supplemental chatter.” I shake my head at Beau’s outlook on life. Again.
Despite his incorrect opinions, I still really like this man in front of me. Enough to follow him to the wild unknown for my favorite holiday. An action that is very unlike me. Before I can obsess about that too much, the scent of the baked goods in my lap lulls me into forgetting all the confusion. Or at least pushing it aside.
The power of carbs.
Beau is singing along to some Shania Twain while I take another bite of biscuit. Outside the truck window, the scenery changes from trees abandoned by their leaves to trees who gained some light snow when we get into the Blue Ridge Mountains.
“This is really pretty.” I haven’t seen a building in way too long, which makes me a little restless, but the snow makes a damn pretty picture hugging the trees like I was wrapped around Beau last night.
We spend the trip alternating between singing obnoxiously to music from the early 2000s until I suggest we play a sober Never Have I Ever.
“Never have I ever broken a bone.” I start off innocently, not wanting to scare him right out the gate.
“Oof. That would make me drink, if that’s what we were doing. I broke my arm climbing a tree. Well, falling off one. Then I fractured my wrist playing baseball. My turn now. Never have I ever gone skinny-dipping.”
“Oh yeah, I’m drinking to that.” I take a sip of the Cheerwine.
“Was it coed?” Beau sounds so shocked.
“Yes, it was.”
Now Beau is silent.
“Never have I ever sexted.” Since he already introduced nakedness into the conversation.
“Not one naughty picture or sassy text?” Beau asks. “I would have to drink there.”
“Men, mostly, have ruined it for themselves with all this revenge porn! I’m not sending a temporary, casual partner that ammo if we break up badly. No thanks.”
“All right, fair. Never have I ever been sent to the principal’s office.”
“No drinks to that.” But if he thinks he can make this PG again, he’s wrong. “Never have I ever had sex in public.”
“Would drink to that. There’s not a lot of options when your parents work from the house. Never have I ever been single for more than six months since I started high school.”
The words make me choke on the soda I’m drinking. I knew he wanted marriage and the white picket fence but by god, that is terrifying.
