Such a stupid moment.
Such a tiny, ordinary thing.
It made my chest ache.
“What?” he asked.
I shook my head. “Nothing.”
“Destiny.”
I looked down at my fries. “We never got this.”
He was quiet for a moment.
“No,” he said. “We didn’t.”
“No awkward first date food. No small talk. No pretending not to stare. No finding out whether you eat pickles.”
“I eat pickles.”
“Good to know.”
“I also stare.”
“I noticed.”
His smile faded into something softer.
“I’m trying not to.”
“I know.”
The band’s singer missed a note with confidence.
Somewhere nearby, a child shrieked with joy or rage. Hard to tell at fairs.
Dylan leaned back carefully, one hand resting near his side. “I thought about taking you somewhere nicer.”
“Define nicer.”
“Restaurant. Candles. Tablecloth. Something with wine I couldn’t pronounce.”
“That sounds terrifying.”
“Exactly.”
I smiled.
He looked at me like he wanted to memorize it.
This time, I let him.
After we ate, he insisted on games.
This was a mistake.
Not for me.
