Page 39 of Without You

He grins and we make idle small talk while eating. It’s not hard to think of things to talk about. We both have a lot going on right now, but we also have memories from our high school to reminisce over.

He lit a citronella candle while I was inside getting the potatoes out of the oven, which is helping to keep the bugs away, but with the sun starting to set, I wish I would have thought ahead and grabbed a sweatshirt or jacket. The short sleeve t-shirt I threw on this morning isn’t keeping me warm enough, but that’s not something I’m going to admit to him. I’m enjoying not just the meal, but also his company far too much to ruin it by complaining that I’m chilly.

Stuffed from the steak, potato, and Caesar salad, I push my now empty plate away and sit back in my seat.

“Oh my gosh, I don’t think I’ve ever been this full.”

“I’m impressed that you were able to eat all that.”

“You trying to tell me that I’m a pig?”

He chortles, “No.” He points at me. “And don’t even go there. You know you’re not and I’m not even close to being the guy that would care. You’re just tiny and I can’t begin to imagine where you were able to put all that food.”

“I’m talented,” I explain, rubbing my stomach. I really am almost uncomfortably full, though. Even the potatoes were outstanding. He did some sort of salt rub on the outside and the sour cream was mixed with something oniony — or maybe it was chives — but it also had a ranch flavor to it. I’m pretty sure the Caesar dressing was homemade, too. Who knew Brody Redding was a home chef?

“Seems so. I would offer you dessert but all I have is chocolate ice cream and Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups.”

“Sounds delicious,” I say, even though I know I’ll regret it if I eat anymore. “But maybe we should do dessert another night. I don’t think I can eat another bite.”

“Another time, huh?” he asks.

I shrug a shoulder. “Well, I mean…”

“Stop right there. I’m taking you up on it. Counting on it, actually, so no backing out.”

Yeah. I’m counting on it, too.

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