Page 137 of Mission Shift

I lifted my beer. “Hamburgers are an institution. You can get one for three bucks in a greasy paper bag at a drive-through or pay a hundred dollars for one stacked with Wagyu beef and truffle aioli on a brioche bun at a steakhouse. We grill them in backyards, serve them at ballparks, and eat them with pickles, bacon, onions—you name it. Hell, one place tried using donuts for buns. That didn’t end well. But the point is that they cover the entire spectrum of American life. Every class. Every taste. United by a sandwich.”

That got her to laugh. It was a genuine laugh, too, loud and surprising. “A unifying national identity built around beef. Very patriotic.”

I shrugged. “We take our food seriously.”

“So what else do Americans eat?” she asked.

“Everything,” I said. “We’ve got Thai, Indian, Cuban, Ethiopian, Japanese, Peruvian, Polish—you name it. Every culture has a home in our kitchens. And food isn’t just about eating. It’s about community. We use it to connect. Americans live for attending backyard barbeques, dinners with family. They’re always eager to drop off a casserole when someone is sick. It’s how we show up for each other.”

She looked at me like I was a nut, but I didn’t care. It was the truth.

“Back home, childhood wouldn’t be the same without the iconic PB&J. When I was a kid,” I said, reminiscing, “my brothers and I ate peanut butter and jelly sandwiches pretty much every day. We could make them ourselves. They don’t require a stove, and they take no time. Just bread, a spoon, and two jars. We’d take them to school, to the park, and even to our rooms when one of us was pissed off. They were easy.”

Her nose wrinkled. “That’s a sandwich? Sounds disgusting.”

I laughed. “Don’t tell me you’ve never heard of PB&J.”

She looked genuinely puzzled. “We don’t eat peanut butter like you do. And we definitely wouldn’t put it with jelly on bread.”

“Okay, now I’m personally offended.” I leaned forward. “See, you’ve got it all wrong. You and I are exactly like a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.”

She gave me an incredulous look. “You’re insane.”

“No. Think about it. I’m the peanut butter—basic, steady. Not flashy but solid.”

She raised an eyebrow. “And I’m the jelly?”

“Exactly. You’re sweet with an acidic bite. A wild berry. Way more complex. But together? We’re balanced. You cut through all my reservedness. I slow down your chaos. Two opposites, good on their own but better together.”

Her laugh came fast this time, and she shook her head. “You just compared us to a kids’ sandwich.”

“A great sandwich,” I said, tapping my chest. “The most legendary pairing in school lunch history.”

She smirked. “You’re an idiot.”

“You’re just mad it makes sense.”

She rested back against the cushions and studied me. “Maybe. But I’ll give you this—the opposites thing? You might have a point.”

I slid closer to her, putting my hand on her shoulder and grazing my thumb over her throat.

“They say opposites attract,” I said, my voice dropping to a low growl. “Makes sense. You’re all ice and attitude. I’m just the guy who thinks he’s hot enough to thaw you out.”

My hand glided to the back of her neck, and I pulled her toward me.

Just as our lips touched, the sky opened up. Buckets of rain started coming down from the clouds, drenching us in seconds.

Daria gasped as the cold drops hit her face. We bolted to our feet.

“Shit!” I grabbed her hand and ran, both of us laughing as the downpour soaked through every layer of clothing we had on. The teak under our feet became slick, slowing us down. The wind whipped around the curve of the upper deck as we reached the stairs.

We dashed down all the flights to the lower deck, breathless and dripping by the time we reached the door to her room. I shoved it open, and we stumbled in.

Rain pelted the windows as water pooled beneath our feet. I ducked into the bathroom, yanked a towel from the rack, and dried my face. When I came back, Daria was still standing near the door, soaked and breathless—her lips parted, her cheeks flushed, her eyes lit up with excitement.

I wrapped the towel around her neck and tugged it gently to draw her closer to me. Drops trickled down the curve of her jaw. I reached up and brushed them away with my thumb.

She looked up at me, her breath hitching.

---