“The Bun Room?” she questions as she types something into her phone. “Is this it?” She shows me a menu.
“That’s it,” I confirm. It’s odd she’s looking it up. “I should’ve asked— do you have any food restrictions?”
“No allergies or anything,” she answers while scrolling. “Just have this thing with menus. Kind of like to scope it out before I get there.” Her voice gets quiet as she explains. “I know, it’s a bit much.” She turns to me, eyes struggling to meet mine.
She seems kind of jumpy about the menu. People do all kinds of things. It’s not up to me to decide what’s crazy or not. “Not at all,” I say, doing my best to reassure her.
We’re sitting across from each other when I try to recall the last time I had lunch away from the lodge or my house. Nothing comes to mind. When’s the last time I went on a date?
Hold it. This isn’t a date. More like a favor with a caloric reward.
Ivy’s knee bounces, slightly shaking the table. She’s intently reading through the menu, flipping from one side to the other.
“What are you getting?”
“Cheeseburger and fries. Can’t go wrong.” I knew what I wanted when we parked.
“My mouth is watering.” She pretends to wipe drool from her mouth. All this does is draw attention to her full, pink lips. Gone is the bold lip color from yesterday. I kind of hate that I notice it.
“I should get a salad,” she says in the way most people lament about food.
A salad? This woman was just drooling over the burger menu.
“Good choice. If you want a salad…” The question is implied. Her green eyes peek over her menu and catch mine. “Do you want a salad? You’re at a place called The Bun Room. Not sure of the salad quality.” I know her answer but ask anyway.
“No, not really.” She sighs. I can see the wheels spinning. She’s thinking through something. “I rarely want salad,” she says quietly under her breath. I can barely hear her.
“Me either. Whatdoyou want?” I press.
Ivy flips the menu back to the burger section and is biting her lower lip. That lip.
“Ah!” she practically shrieks. “The peanut butter bacon cheeseburger. And fries!” Her voice is higher and vibrant.
“I’ve never had it. Sounds good though.”
The server takes our order, clears our menus, and it’s just the two of us, in a mostly empty restaurant. We’ve come right between the lunch and dinner rush. Ivy leans her back against her chair, stretching her arms up and over. Her hair flows over the chair and I swear I get another whiff of lavender.
“Peanut butter on a cheeseburger… who knew?” She beams. “I love peanut butter. I swear, I could eat PB&J sandwiches every day.” She’s rambling but it’s cute.
“I love peanut butter too. There’s a local coffee shop that bakes peanut butter scones from scratch. One of Slate’s favorite treats,” I divulge.
Her chin is propped up on her hands and I swear she has heart eyes talking about peanut butter.
“I think Slate and I will get along just fine,” she says.
“I don’t doubt it.”
We talk while waiting for our lunch. She tells me a little about what she does for work. At times, it’s hard to keep up because shetalks so fast. Ivy also uses this time to tell me she’s nervous for our hike, which we’re planning for tomorrow. It makes me smile a bit, being able to share a new experience with her.
It’s clear that she’s a planner. Before I know it, she’s got her notes app open and is asking questions about what trail we’re going to take, when we’ll leave, how long we’ll be gone, and checks the weather. She doesn’t lose any steam and the questions don’t stop. I do my best to answer them.
When I tell her we’ll have to put Slate in a sort of doggy backpack, she screams—loudly. Like, everyone in the restaurant looks over at her.
She laughs and tells me, “That’s the cutest thing I’ve ever heard.”
I can’t help but smirk back at her.
Our food is dropped off and her heart eyes are back with a vengeance. She moans when she bites into the burger, with peanut butter stuck on the corner of her lip. I need to rearrange myself.That moan.
