Page 45 of Caper Crush
“I don’t think you should meet with them with just Edmund,” he says. “There is such a thing as coming to a consensus and not acting unilaterally, especially when it’s not just your own interests at stake.”
It sounds like his concern is my safety. And I can take care of myself.
The traffic is moderately heavy, but we are still making good time back to Manhattan. I fish a package of peanut M&Ms out of my pocket.
“What are you eating?”
“Peanut M&Ms. I can eat in your car, right?”
“Yes,” he says.
“I get grumpy when I’m hungry, so I bring a spare pack to stave off my Hyde personality.”
He laughs. “Are you going to share?”
“If I was eating a Snickers bar, would you ask me to share?”
“No,” he says.
“So just because M&Ms come in individual bites, I have to share?”
“Not if you don’t want to. But yes, they are shareable.”
“Okay,” I say. “Open your mouth, and I’ll put some in.”
William sputters. “You can hand it to me, and I’ll eat it.”
“You might get chocolate on your hands and then on your steering wheel. Are you sure you want to risk that?”
“Point taken.” He glances at me. “Okay.”
I smile sneakily and pop an M&M into his mouth. My fingers lightly graze his lips. He’s got really defined cheekbones too. I want to touch them and ruffle his soft, black hair. For artistic modeling purposes. My stomach dances. Among other purposes.
“Let me know when you’re ready for your next one,” I say as he chews.
“It’s okay.”
“Do you get grumpy when hungry?”
“No, not really. Should we stop for dinner at this exit?” The green sign to our right announces the upcoming rest stop and the available restaurants.
“McDonald’s?” I ask.
He takes the next exit, and we park in the vast parking lot. I grab his coat, but he says to leave it. The air is chilly outside, and we run to the front door. Inside is the usual chaotic and plastic atmosphere of a rest stop illuminated by bright, fluorescent lighting; families shuttle in and out in a rush. It has got to be the least romantic place possible. I blush. Not that I’m imagining a romance with William. But the way he held me …
The person at the counter waves us forward and asks for our order. I order a Happy Meal with an extra burger.
He shoots me a look as if to say,Seriously?
Now to find an empty, relatively clean table. Wiping off any remaining crumbs with a napkin, we sit in the orange, plastic seats and unwrap our food.
“I can’t believe you bought a Happy Meal,” William says.
“Sometimes they have good toys for my friend who loves dollhouses.” I hold up a mini car.
He shakes his head. “I thought they only sold those to kids.”
“I’m young at heart. It’s a secret society,” I say. “They can tell when I order.”
