Page 69 of Freedom's Kiss
Chapter 28
The food court at the mall was a smorgasbord of smells and sounds. As soon as Adam stepped into the first-floor circle of food options, his senses were pummeled. The sizzle of meat and veggies on the open grill, not to mention the salty aroma of soy and fish sauce from Golden Wok, packed the first punch. Walking a little farther in, the brown sugar and ketchup blend from Freddy’s BBQ’s signature sauce accosted him. Over it all hung the heavy and almost tangible scent of french fries. He could almost feel the oil soaking into his pores. Dozens of voices lifted above the noise of food prep as shoppers conversed over a meal handed to them in bags or on trays.
Adam scanned the crowd, searching for Amber’s dark-blond head among the throng. He reached into his pocket to pull out his cell to send a text, when he spotted her leaning against a pillar on the outskirts of the food court. She smiled as they made eye contact, and handed over a cup with his favorite smoothie-place logo on it, slick with perspiration.
“Thanks.” Straw to lips, he sucked, and then nearly gagged. He pulled the cup away and watched in horror as green slowly descended back down the straw. “Ugh. Whatisthat?” Smoothies weren’t meant to be green. Pink, red, blue, yellow…all acceptable colors and flavors. But green?
Amber pushed on his shoulder and sucked her drink through her own straw, green smoothie trailing up through the clear cylinder. She swallowed and smirked at him. “What? I thought you liked kale?”
“I do. In salad, baked into kale chips, or even cooked as a side if done right.” He held up his cup. “But this? This is a crime to my taste buds, dear sister.”
She shrugged. “Michael drinks them.”
“He also ate military ready-made meals that were freeze dried and came from a pouch. He has no taste buds anymore.”
“Wimp.”
He eyed the trash can.
Amber laughed. “Go ahead.”
He tossed the smoothie in and gave an exaggerated sigh of relief. “Drinking that would be grounds for my man card being revoked.”
She laughed and tilted her chin up at him at a sideways angle. Her ever-present ponytail swished across her shoulder. “Man card?”
“Don’t worry about it.” He tweaked her nose.
She swatted at his hand. “I promise you I won’t.”
Hands free, he shoved them into his pockets. “So ideas on what to get Mom for her birthday?”
“Sorry, no. I’ve been pulling long nights to get a research paper for my hermeneutics class done.”
“Herma-what-now?”
She stopped walking. “You know I finally declared a major, right?”
“Yeah, Michael told me. Although I would’ve rather heard it from you. Theology.”
“Right. Sorry. You’ve just…” She sighed. “You’ve had your own stuff going on lately. Anyway, hermeneutics is the study of interpreting the Bible. Where exegesis focuses on the words and grammar of the texts, hermeneutics is more of the communication as a whole, both verbal and nonverbal.”
Her eyes held a spark that matched her laugh. She’d always reminded him a bit of Tinker Bell. Because of her size and hair color but also because she had a light inside her that shone outward and seemed to float around and land on anyone close enough. She also had a mean temper that, while growing up, he and his brothers occasionally provoked on purpose. What could he say? It was funny to watch a little pixie stamp her feet.
But her pixie dust, that magical glitter that radiated off her when she got excited, was sparking, and her face glowed. He had no idea what she was talking about, more comfortable with legal phrases likecorpus delictior culinary terms likeal forno. He knew Scripture, had a solid handle on doctrinal issues, but she’d lost him with the theological speak. Didn’t matter though. He read the passion on her face and was happy for her.
They passed a store, and he pointed, cutting off her explanation of the apocrypha and the canon. “What about something from here for Mom?”
She glanced up at the store sign. “Things Remembered?”
Why did she say that like it was the worst idea in the world? They monogrammed stuff, right? Didn’t that count as a “personal touch”?
“You’re as bad as Dad is with gifts.”
“I love Dad’s gifts. They’re always so practical. He’s great at getting us something we actually need.”
“That’s just it. Gifts aren’t supposed to be practical. Yes, I’m sure Mom appreciated the vacuum he got her last year for her birthday or the car detailing he got her for Christmas, but do you really think those are things she secretly wished for?” She poked a finger at the glass window display. “You buy gifts in there for things like graduations, not birthdays.”
He held his hands up in surrender. “Duly noted.”
