Page 23 of Fated Shot

I chuckle, “Exactly.”

Our waitress returns carrying our appetizer and actually has the audacity to wink at me before turning and leaving. This time, Mia shifts uncomfortably in her seat, looking down at her lap. Irritation starts to simmer inside me, this is not the impression I want to leave her with. I’ve dreamed of this for weeks and I’m fully blowing it.

Before I even have a chance to control the situation, I hear her soft voice. “Twenty questions?”

“Sounds like an interrogation,” I say, grabbing a chip, but the relief of a topic change is already lightening the vibe.

“It’s a good way to get to know someone, I think. We can go back and forth if it makes you feel better. Want to play?”

I nod.

“Ok, I’ll go first.” She pauses for a moment to think. “What’s your favorite color?”

I can’t help the smile that forms. “What’s my favorite color? That’s your hard-hitting question?”

“Starting slow. Go on, let’s hear it.”

“Gray, what’s yours?”

“Nope, find your own question,” she quips back.

“So many rules…” I mock. “Do you have a favorite place you’ve lived?”

“Wyndham, by far, I can never get enough.”

“Can’t blame you. It’s a special place for sure,” I say, nodding in agreement. I could absolutely see myself there full-time. I know I’ve only really experienced it during its peak season, but I can’t imagine anything better than it being snow covered and empty in the thick of winter.

“Any nicknames growing up?”

“Jack is my nickname,” I state matter-of-factly.

She stops, chip midway to her mouth. “Jack is not your real name?”

“Is that a second question?” I smirk at her before continuing, “I’ll let this one slide,rule breaker.But I’m technically James Brody.”

“James—that’s a really nice name.”

Just the way my name sounds coming out of her mouth is enough for me to consider a permanent change. Actually, now that I think of it, if she’d decided to call me Steve, I’d happily become Steve Brody.

I think for another moment. “Did you have a nice birthday?” I’ve never really been one to enjoy my birthday, but celebrating her? It’s a travesty it’s not a national holiday.

It looks like a pang of discomfort crosses her face. “It was… mediocre.”

“Care to elaborate?” I add, genuinely intrigued at her vague reply.

“Is that a second question?” she mocks in an attempt to sound like me. The laugh that slips out of my mouth takes even me by surprise. She’s a secret comedian, I’ll give her that much.

“I liked the cake, but everything else, not so much.” Before I have a chance to probe for more details, she adds, “What’s your favorite cookie?”

I want to push her on it, but in the interest of keeping it light, I continue.

“Lemon shortbread. Random, I know. My mom used to make them in the summer, and a few weeks ago Harold had some in his displa—” My mouth shuts as I process. “You made the lemon shortbread, didn’t you?”

She smiles so brightly, her eyes sparkling. “Yep. Aaand now it’s my turn again.”

“I didn’t even ask a question,” I oppose, while she just continues looking at me, a slow smile reforming as she waits for me to connect the dots.

Making note to not phrase my follow ups as a question next time, I reply, “Fine, feisty, your turn.”

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