Page 21 of Freefall

My mouth hangs open. Not the iconic sword fight on the Cliffs of Insanity. Not the battle of wits. But perhaps the most vulnerable part of the entire movie.

Damn.

I clear my throat. “That’s…correct.”

The corner of his mouth lifts, and this time he doesn’t try to hide his smile. “So I passed?”

I mirror his expression. “Yeah, you passed.”

We spend the next ten minutes going back and forth asking each other questions. By the time the waitress comes back with our food, the slight awkwardness from earlier feels like a distant memory.

The scent of fried cheesy goodness hits my nose the second she sets the plates down. I immediately dig in, nearly moaning when the first fry loaded with mozzarella and gravy hits my tongue. I’m in such a state of bliss that it’s a solid two minutes before I look up and realize Nate isn’t eating.

I freeze mid-chew.

He’s sitting there, staring and…he’s watching me eat. Not in the horrified way you might expect someone to watch a person inhaling a plate of cheese fries, but more in awe—like he’s not sure I’m real.

“Sorry.” I laugh. “I zone out sometimes when I’m in ecstasy.”

Did I seriously just say that?

He leans in as if he’s about to tell me a secret. “Noted.”

Dear Lord. I nod toward his untouched food. “Are you not hungry?”

“I am, it’s just…” He glances down at his plate, then back up at me. “What the hell is this?”

A slow grin spreads across my face. “Did you just order what I did without knowing what it was?”

“You seemed really sure about it.”

“So you’re telling me you’ve never had disco fries?”

He shakes his head.

“Oh, okay. You haven’t even lived yet. Got it.” I lift my chin. “Take a bite, Nathan.”

“Nathan, huh?”

“Well, you refuse to tell me your middle name, so it’s all I’ve got.”

When he’s finished rolling his eyes, he takes his fork and spears one of the cheese-and-gravy-covered French fries at the top of the pile and brings it to his mouth. I give him a nod of encouragement, and he shoves the whole forkful in his mouth. Then I let myself watch as his jaw works and his Adam’s apple bobs when he swallows.

By the time he’s done chewing, his eyes are heavy-lidded and slightly glazed over. “Where the fuck has that been all my life?”

“Exactly! You have to dip it in the extra gravy next time.”

“Jesus,” he mutters, low and raspy, as he stabs the fork back into his pile of fries and dunks it into the cup of gravy. How is this now the third time he’s made my clit throb from doing something mundane?

I shake my head in an attempt to get rid of those dirty thoughts. “Right, well, anyway, now that we got that out of the way. Back to questions. What’s your favorite flower?”

“Don’t have one,” he says in between his next couple of bites.

“C’mon. Everyone has a favorite flower.”

He takes a sip of his Coke, shaking his head. “I don’t think so.”

I shrug, and we eat in comfortable silence for a few moments before he puts his fork down. “Daisies.”