Page 74 of Cookout Carnage
He sighed. ‘I knew it.’ He turned back to the house. ‘Hang on, be right back.’
He returned with something hidden in his hand. ‘I forgot the secret ingredient.’ He held out his upturned fist. ‘You’ll need to unwrap it.’
Sherilyn reached out to touch him for the first time. His skin was warm, sending shocks up her arm and tripping up her heart. In her peripheral vision, she saw him swallow. She unfurled his fingers one by one. Lying in his palm was a single chilli pepper.
He cleared his throat. ‘Is it enough?’ he asked quietly.
She met his gaze. He was looking so intently at her. Everything in the universe seemed to stop.
She nodded. ‘It’s perfect.’
A car passed and she jumped, remembering with an unpleasant jolt that she needed to keep them both off the streets.
‘You want to get something to eat?’
He grinned. ‘Is fried chicken from Kentucky?’
* * *
Being British,Tristan wasn’t prone to effusive and public displays of emotion. But right now, trying to keep up with Sherilyn as she strode along the tree-lined suburban street, he was so happy he wanted to break into an old-time song and dance routine. As well as joy, relief washed over him. He hadn’t misjudged his feelings. If anything, he had completely underestimated how much she meant to him. Seeing her in the sunlight and hearing her voice without any digital distortion was the difference between watching a scratched VHS tape of his favourite film in black and white, then seeing it again at an IMAX theatre in 3D. He thought she was his perfect woman before, but now, with her hair falling loose around her face and a plain T-shirt, she was more real and even more captivating. And she was wearing the necklace he’d made for her. That one gesture made his heart sing.
At work he’d noticed she was efficient and full of energy, but he hadn’t guessed that would extend to how she walked. Maybe it was an American thing? She was smaller than him, but it was like they were on a route march. They chatted about work as she directed him towards the main street in the town he’d driven through earlier. It was a slice of small-town America and he loved it. In the UK a village of this size would have dated back hundreds, if not thousands, of years. The centre would have streets so narrow it was often difficult to negotiate them with a car. In Midway, Main Street might not have been long but it was broad, with small businesses lining either side. It looked straight out of a movie, and despite his hunger, he wanted to stop and take photos. Sherilyn, however, had other ideas.
‘Come on, plenty of time for that later. We need to get you fed,’ she said, taking his arm and pulling him into a diner. She marched briskly through to the very back, ignoring the few people inside. A booth was tucked away in the corner, a rope across the entrance. A piece of paper had been hung over it with ‘reserved’ written on it. Sherilyn pulled it aside, slid into one seat and indicated for him to sit opposite her.
‘But it’s reserved?’
She was sitting in the far corner, rearranging the menu like a wall at the front of the table.
‘Yes, for us. Sit down.’
He wanted to sit close to her, to feel that glorious connection of his body next to hers. But he did as directed, settling his attention on her pale amber eyes with their smoky dark lashes. She looked nervous. Should he reach across the table and take her hand? Reassure her that everything was going to be okay? He sat back. He shouldn’t push it. He was sure of his feelings for her, but he couldn’t assume they would be reciprocated.
‘Is this one of the perks of being the mayor’s daughter? A booth reserved at all times?’
Her eyes opened wide and her mouth made a startled ‘o’ shape.
‘My pa-father isn’t mayor anymore,’ she said in a hurry. ‘He abdicated.’
‘So, he’s not presiding over the parade anymore?’
‘No. He and Ma-my, my mother are just normal people now. Normal people watching the parade with you. Normally.’
Out of the corner of his eye he saw something big and white appear. He turned to see a young woman, a server apron on, wheeling a four-panel hospital privacy screen across the front of the booth. The panels were made of cloth and were old and smudged with dirt. At the top of one it said: ‘Property of MAD’.
What the fuck?
The server tucked herself inside with them, brought a pad and paper out of the front pocket of her apron and smiled brightly. ‘Hi, I’m Amy and I’m your server for today. You ready to order?’
Tristan looked at Sherilyn who had her nose buried in the menu. Her face was puce.
‘Yes, thank you, Amy, I’ll have the house burger and a coffee please. Tris?’
He stared at her. Her face seemed like it had frozen, but he could see her jaw vibrating with tension. He turned to Amy, who was sporting the same manic expression, her hand clenched so tightly around her pen that her knuckles were white.
He cleared his throat. ‘Um. The screen,’ he began. ‘Is it, erm, really necessary?’
Amy’s head went up and down like a nodding dog in a car driving over cobbles at sixty miles per hour.
