Page 30 of Ripped & Shipped
She grabs a few napkins from the stack between us and reaches over.
“Here, Soldier, let me get that for you.”
Then she wipes across my face so carefully. When she pulls her hand back she announces, “Clean!”
I don’t get touched all that often. Duke, bless his crazy heart, hugs me every time he sees me. My sister does too. But other than those two people and Aiden’s kids, I go long stretches of time without anyone else’s hands on me. It shouldn’t matter that Ella Mae wiped my face. And it doesn’t.
She’s smiling at the camera, singing a song about women wishing they were her. “Oh, yes, girls. I know you wish you could wipe that face. Sorry, Charlie. The privilege is mine alone tonight.”
She winks at the camera. Then she turns to me and says, “So, rate the burger, Chris.”
“Okay.”
I consider this a job now. What would I rate this burger?
“Taste, I’d give it an eight out of ten.”
“Only an eight?”
“Well, I’ve been eating fresh burgers cooked over a fire pit for years. It’s not really fair to this burger, but those beat this one. As far as a restaurant burger, this one’s pretty good.”
“How about the overall experience?”
“Well, I did spill half the meal on my face.”
“A-dor-able. And no one’s complaining. Do you see these comments? Everyone wants to wipe your face, Chris.”
Um. Okay. That’s a lot to take in. Total strangers want to wipe my face?
“Anyway,” Ella Mae continues without missing a beat. “Overall experience.”
“I’d say nine of ten.”
“There you have it, peeps. Flavor is an eight; experience is a nine. And Chris?” she asks, leaning in so our faces are close together and the camera can capture us both. “What do you usually eat here?”
“The spaghetti with chili, and a side salad.”
“Is that a ten?”
“Compared to Skyline in Cincinnati? No. Definitely not. But compared to a lot of other diners, yeah.”
“Okay. My turn,” Ella Mae says.
She holds her sandwich up and takes a healthy bite of it.
She hums, “Mmmm.”
When she pulls the sandwich away from her mouth, she’s still got a bit of a bite left in her mouth.
She talks around the bite, somehow managing to come across cute instead of disgusting. “I can’t say if this is a ten because I haven’t eaten anything in thirty-six hours, or if it’s actually this good. Chris? I need you to chime in.”
Before I know what’s happening, Ella Mae is holding her sandwich in front of my mouth and I’m taking a bite—while she feeds me.
I pull back and smile with my mouth full, lips closed. Once I’ve swallowed, I say, “Ten. That’s a definite ten.”
Ella Mae turns to the camera. “It’s official peeps. This sandwich is the winner!”
We eat the rest of our meal. Ella Mae shows me how to tell how many people are joining us live by watching the counter in the top corner of the screen. The number goes up the longer we’re on.
