Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 86596 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 433(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86596 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 433(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
“Yeah, same. It's because of my international clients. Don't know how I got so many of them.” She laughs.
Once that's done, we enjoy the silence before arriving at our destination—a barbecue joint that totes beer cheese and bean soup among its specialties, with moonshine to wash it down.
“Well. When I said I wanted a hole-in-the-wall, you certainly delivered.”
I remove my sports coat, tossing it in the back seat of the sedan before loosening my tie.
Molly takes a bow, teetering on her heels in the gravel parking lot. “Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve had beer cheese?” She scoffs. “Ages.”
“Since never?”
“Please.” Molly tosses her hair. “They sell it at the grocery store in town. It tastes fantastic smothered on a pretzel.”
“So what you're saying is you're easy to please?”
“Yes. And no. It means I enjoy stadium food and the simple pleasures. That does not mean I don't enjoy lobster and shrimp and caviar, mister. Don’t get the wrong idea. I'm no cheap date.”
She flings open the door to the tiny establishment and waltzes inside as if she were the queen of England.
“All this means is, when you're a guest in someone's home state, it's polite to indulge in the local delicacies.” Molly is already casing the joint for an available table. She spies one in the corner and begins weaving her way through the crowded restaurant.
I have no choice but to trail along after her.
I feel as if I've been doing that a lot lately since meeting her, trailing along after Molly, waiting to hear what she'll say next. What wisdom or logic will come out of her mouth. Her pretty, pouty mouth.
The menu looks incredible; spicy and Southern and incredible. It's been an age since I've had anything rustic, and my eyes scan the menu, brain unable to make up its mind.
“Should we do a little bit of everything?” Molly asks, finger tapping her chin.
“You read my mind.”
“Everything looks so good,” she muses, her finger now tapping several photos on the plastic sheet. “Barbecue for sure. Beans? Or are beans a terrible idea?”
“Pass on the beans.” They’ll come back to haunt us both on our flight, no doubt.
“What’s this bread?”
“Cornbread? Haven’t you ever had it?”
I shake my head. “Nope.”
“Ah, well, then we’re definitely adding that to the list.” Pause. “Deviled eggs?” She glances over at me. “These are fried.”
Another hard pass for me. “Er, probably not, but you go right ahead.”
With a shake of her head, Molly continues tapping her chin as she contemplates the menu as if this decision is going to make or break the afternoon. When the server arrives, we order drinks (sweet tea) and ask about options, ordering a few things to start us off.
My stomach growls. “Barbecue sounds so good.”
“Doesn’t it, though? I can’t make it to save my soul, and I’m a decent cook.” She folds a napkin across her lap. “It’s all about cooking the meat, you know? I love the kind that pulls apart. Yum.”
We both lick our chops, then laugh. “Could we be hungrier?”
She fiddles with the menu. “Bread, deviled eggs, dip, barbecue, and Key lime pie for dessert?”
“Let’s do it.”
Molly tucks the menu away, rattling off our order once the server comes back with ice-cold drinks, before sitting back in her chair and bobbing her head around.
The fascinator on top lolls from side to side.
She reaches up to touch it but doesn’t remove it. “Almost forgot I had this silly thing on.”
“It’s not silly. It’s adorable.”
She gives me an eye roll, as per usual. “You know—you hardly need me to tail you around the United States. It wasn’t necessary to bring me today. One woman spoke to you, and she was married.”
She isn’t wrong.
I didn’t need her to come along, and I most certainly don’t need to bring her everywhere, but now that she’s here, I realize how nice it is in her company—sarcastic sassiness or not.
“I know that. But it’s entertaining.”
“Be honest; you couldn’t give a shit if women hit on you. You’ve been managing just fine before I came along.”
“Yeah, but it’s so much better with a fake girlfriend.”
“Oh, is that what I am now? Your fake girlfriend?”
“If the shoe fits…”
We spend the next few minutes in silence because the server has brought over our barbecue and bread, and let me just say—as someone who’s never had cornbread before, this is out of this world fantastic. I'm a huge fan of butter, too, and this version is mixed with honey.
So damn good.
I groan when it hits my mouth.
“Could you please stop doing that? I don't want anyone looking over here.”
“I'm just expressing how good it is,” I explain with a smile. Taking another bite and groaning to illustrate my point. “Yummy.”
“If this was a real date, I would be so turned off right now.”
“You're disgusted because I said yummy?”