Page 60 of The Accidental Honeymoon

He sucks the syrup off my hand, leaving me winded. "All clean."

I swallow hard. "Thanks."

Jay has the audacity to wink at me. It only makes me more tongue-tied.

We finish our waffles and tour the remainder of the room. There are charts showing how many eggs, strips of bacon, and waffles have been served since the restaurant’s inception in 1955. I point at the next display and gasp. “This is crazy! It says that each Waffle House has an extensive disaster management plan. In times of emergency, every Waffle House has an on-site generator so that operations can continue without the power grid. There are emergency “jump teams” of staff and supplies that can be brought into areas affected by natural disasters.” I scan the rest of the display and gasp again. “Listen to this. The ability of a Waffle House to remain open after a natural disaster is called the Waffle House Index. It’s used by FEMA as a measure of disaster recovery.”

I turn, open-mouthed, to find that Jay isn’t really paying attention. I hit him gently on the arm. His head snaps up. “What? Did I miss something?”

“I’m trying to tell you how important Waffle House is to America.Pay attention!”

“I am!” he protests. He pulls his phone out and starts to film. “Say it again, wife. Why is Waffle House so important?”

I roll my eyes but repeat the information for his followers, hoping that a few will absorb the gist. Probably not, but who knows.

His phone beeps and as he glances at it, I use the distraction to take a deep breath. I’m being too intense about today. I know it.

"You have to see this," Jay says, showing me the screen. It's one of the selfies of us he posted to his Instagram. The comments are a mix of swooning and envious. Every single one is centered on how much chemistry we have.

"Looks like your fans approve," I say, my cheeks burning.

He shrugs, but there's a mischievous glint in his eye. "They're usually pretty spot-on." He pauses, then adds, "So, what do you think? About us?"

I don't answer. I can't. The truth is, I don't know what to think. He's nothing like I imagined. That scares me more than if he were exactly as I expected.

He saves me from having to respond. “My suggestion would be practice.”

“What does that mean?” I slide him a skeptical look.

“You know what they say… practice makes perfect… And I want to spend some time making sure that we’ve got every detail right.” He smirks.

I smile and shake my head. It’s hard to take him seriously. But if he insists on practicing… I’m more than willing to put in the effort.

twenty-one

JAY

Calla shouts,“I thought you said we needed more practice!” as she follows me down the packed street. I pause and wait for her to catch up, then take her hand. “This is practice,” I say.

She gives me the stink eye. “I thought that by practice you meant…”

I tease, “…spending hours in bed together?”

“Yes! I mean, not just that, but… yeah,” she laughs.

I pick up her hand and place a kiss on her wrist. “I promise to take you straight home after this and chain you to the bed post. Will that please you?”

Calla shrugs, looking slightly foolish. “Whatever.”

“This is good practice, too. Faking a relationship around my friends is more of a challenge,” I add.

She smiles and replies, “As you wish.” Holding her hand, I start to look around at the parade goers.

I like to describe The Great Couch Potato Parade as Mardi Gras for the terminally lazy. Floats shaped like couches, remotes, and oversized snacks trundle through the square, showering the crowd with free samples of chips andsoda. It’s a celebration of sloth, a festival for the indolent, and it’s my favorite day of the year.

Normally I’m pro-exercise, don’t get me wrong. But all of my favorite people participate in the festivities. Every year since college, we’ve pulled out all the stops to make the parade one of the most fun events in Greater.

Today, I put all my health-nut tendencies to the side, and exchange them for terrible habits. I drink sugary soda, I eat meats wrapped in other meats, I pretend that cholesterol isn’t going to one day clog my arteries and attempt to murder me.

---