“Get Biscoff. I can only have a sip anyway.”
“Then it will be Oreo,” I say firmly.
The corners of his mouth lift up in a cute smile. “Are you sure?”
“Yes, I’m sure. This is our date. Our chicken shop experience. I want you to have a bit of everything before I devour the box.”
Something registers in his expression at my words. I can see him digesting it and taking it in, but he doesn’t say anything, as if he’s keeping that thought tucked away for himself.
Why is that sexy and heart melting at the same time?
“I’ll run in and get the order, too,” I volunteer. “Then if Peter has to move the car, he can.”
“I wish I could go in with you.”
“No, Box O’ Chix is not worth it,” I remind him.
I swear he almost sulks. I giggle. “Caleb Collings, there is no reason to be upset that you can’t go into a chicken shop with me.”
Now he looks embarrassed.
“I mean, what are you going to miss? Coming out smelling like fried chicken?”
I pause. Oh great. Now for the rest of the date, I’m going to smell like fried chicken.
“I’m going to miss seeing your reaction when you take it all in. I don’t like missing moments with you. I miss enough as it is.”
My eyes fly to his. He stares at me as the car pulls to a stop in front of the bright neon lights of Box O’ Chix.
I slide my hand to the nape of his neck, rubbing my fingers up and down his warm skin. “It won’t always be like this,” I promise him. “We’ll be sharing these things together.”
Which is a bold thing to say. Because I’ve basically just told him I can see us beyond this getting-to-know-you phase we’re in, when everything has to be kept a secret.
But I have no regrets saying it to him because I mean it.
His brow creases. Concern flickers in his eyes, and I wonder if I’ve gone too far. I say what I think, what I feel. It’s what caught Caleb’s eye in the first place, me standing up for myself to Arthur.
Perhaps this time it was too much to say. Damn it.
“I’ll be right back.” I quickly open my door and pop out of the car. “If you have to drive around and pick me up, that’s fine.”
Then I hurry onto the street, which is still busy on this Tuesday night. I walk up to Box O’ Chix, the red lights glowing brightly over the shop. I pull open the door, and I’m slapped in the face with the scent of grease and fried food.
I’m not going to lie. It smells delicious. I know I just had some crab cups and mini beef Wellingtons, but something about some chicken and fries sounds really good right now.
The menu boards above the counter advertise the offerings with a lot of pictures, but I get exactly what I discussed with Caleb in the car. An authentic chicken shop experience. I pay for my box and wait for my order, hoping I didn’t freak Caleb out with what I just said. I can’t really take it back. I mean, that wouldn’t be authentic to what I’m thinking.
But I could probably do with some self-editing of what I allow to come out of my mouth.
I’ll just act like it didn’t happen. Still weird, but not as weird as trying to explain what I said and tell him not to think about it.
My order is ready, and I pick up the box and the shake. I head outside and see the SUV is in the same spot I left it. I open the door and climb back inside, shutting the door behind me.
“Your car is not only going to have a champagne spill, but it’s going to smell like a box of chicken and fries,” I say with a smile.
“Nothing that can’t be aired out,” Caleb declares.
“I’m glad we did it. That was my first proper British experience! I have my very own box of chicken from a real chicken shop. This is exciting!”