Her brow wrinkled. “How is it you know so much about Texas?”
“I don’t. I just looked up the most outrageous things to do here. And highlighted anything mortifying or embarrassing. I wanted to be prepared.”
She chuckled.
He narrowed his eyes. “I’ve never heard you giggle. Do you? Ever?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe.”
He shook his head. “No. I don’t think so. I can’t see it.”
The waiter placed her second bourbon before her.
“I know what you’re trying to do,” he said.
“You do, do you?”
He nodded. “I do.”
“And that is …?”
“Wherever you’re going to take me, whatever you plan on doing, it’s meant to rattle me.” He paused, tapering his eyes. “If you couldn’t rattle me with deep-fried s’mores and Krispy Kreme burgers, I hardly think you’ll rattle me with anything here in Texas.”
“You seemed rattled when handling a rifle. And … today.”
There it is.
Clenching his jaw, he stiffened. He was thinking how to respond when the waiter arrived with their food.
Under normal circumstances, he would have welcomed the interruption, but he found it difficult when the waiter set a plate before him that nearly took up the entire width of the table and was piled high with ribs, glistening in fat and dripping in sauce.
He stopped the waiter before he left and asked what kind of scotch they had, preferably single malt.
The waiter had a baffled look on his face. “I know we have a bottle back there. Hardly anyone ever orders it. I know it says scotch on the bottle. I’m guessing it comes from Scotland?”
He could hear Ceci chuckling.
“That’ll be fine,” he said.
She began eating while he stared at his plate. He was going to need that scotch.
She peered at him over a rib she held in front of her mouth. “You can’t use a fork and knife you know.”
“I’ve eaten ribs before.”
“Really?” she said with an exaggerated tone of surprise.
“Yes, really,” he said, his voice carefully modulated.
He sighed when the waiter set the glass of scotch before him.
“Thank you.”
He took a sip and coughed.
Ceci set down the rib. “No good?” she ventured, not even trying to disguise her amusement.
“Definitely not single malt.” He set the glass down and examined his plate. He picked up what looked like the least fatty rib and took a bite. “Hmm,” he murmured, taking another bite.
