“You don’t believe me?” I snubbed my nose up at him playfully. “I’mhurt.”
At that moment, my stomach rumbled so loudly that it startledusboth.
“See, even your stomach doesn’tbelieveyou.”
“My stomach’s no traitor. It’s just hungry because I haven’t fed it much in the past dayorso.”
“Why thehellnot?”
“To look good in my weddingdress,duh.”
“Okay, now we’re back to the whole shallow thing,Casey.”
“Fine, if you must know, my shallowness was something I was hiding from you until we got married. Surprise!” I splayed my fingers out like an explosion while adopting crazy eyes. “Have fun dealing with my shit for the rest ofyourlife.”
“Right back at ya!” he said, with perfect timing. We enjoyed a hearty laugh. One thing was for sure – we were quitethepair.
“Why didn’t you eat at the reception, then?” he asked, laying his hand on mystomach.
“I didn’t want to drop anything on my dress! Or, god forbid, smile and have parsley in my teeth. Now it doesn’t matter what I look like because I’m not trying to impress anyoneanymore.”
“Except me, yourhusband.”
“Exactly,exceptyou.”
Jake shook his head at me, smiling. “You’re all Miss Snarky tonight,aren’tyou?”
“Mrs.”
“Oh,right.”
I turned excitedly in my seat, nearly jumping up and down on my designer clad bottom. “McDonald’s!” I screamed. And as I watched it pass by on the left hand side of the street, I placed both hands on the window and whispered with a sad little pout, “Big Mac.Fries.”
Jake found that wildly funny, and when he stopped laughing, said, “Maybe I’m reading you all wrong, but did you want to stop atMcDonald’s?”
“Wow, Jake, you’re like a mindreader.”
“Did someone have a little too much champagnetonight?”
I shrugged, but in reality, I was barely drunk. It was more just that I was giddywithlife.
Jake called out to the driver and his security guy in the front seat. “Can you please get this woman to the nearest goldenarches?”
After completing an illegal U-turn, the driver pulled into the parking lot, and I cheered. I was one step closer to the first solid food I’d eaten in about a week. Our limousine pulled into the drive-thru, and I rolled down my window, eager to give my order, but the narrow drive-up lane made navigation difficult. Jake and I exchanged an amused glance as the driver backed up and pulled forward multiple times in an embarrassing effort to make my fast food dream a reality. It soon became clear that we’d gotten horribly wedged between a concrete retaining wall and the ordering screen. More and more cars lined up behind us. Now there was no way out but forward, and that seemed impossible, given thecircumstances.
“Oh, my god,” I whispered, in an attempt to quell the giggles that were fast approaching. “Tell me this is not happening right now. Are we seriously stuck in the drive-thru atMcDonald’s?”
“It definitely appears that way,” Jake said. “And you want to hear something even better? See that car rightthere?”
I looked over at the wine-colored sedan he was pointing at andnodded.
“That’spaparazzi.”
“No!”
“Yep.” He nodded. “And so is the blue one over there. I can see the flash bulbs going. This will be on TMZ bymorning.”
That’s when the laughing began. Mine, that is. I felt the rise of hysteria slowly creeping up, and soon I’d dissolved into a fit of uncontrollable giggles. I could picture the memorable headline:Jake McKallister Trapped in Drive-through on Wedding Night. The thought only made me laugh harder, setting off an intense urgetopee.
