Page 32 of Check the Halls
I still hate them. I hate all pickled things. Loathe them entirely. But in three years together, despite knowing how much I detest them, Derek has never asked them to leave them off my shawarma. Not once.
“I do,” I finally manage, looking down at my disassembled sandwich. “I do. Thank you.”
“Don’t mention it.”
The first bite is heaven. Warm, spiced meat, tangy garlic sauce, and soft, pillowy pita—it’s everything I didn’t know I was craving until now. I close my eyes and moanas the flavour hits my tongue sending my tastebuds straight to nirvana.
When I open them, he’s staring at me.
Ben’s gaze flickers from my lips to the shawarma in my hand, and I swear I hear his jaw click.
“Good?” he asks, his voice rough and teasing.
“So good.” This might be the best shawarma I’ve ever tasted. The combination of spices is complex and perfect. I can’t remember the last time I enjoyed a meal this much. “This is the best thing I’ve ever tasted.”
“Wow.” His lips twitch like he’s trying not to smile.
I roll my eyes. “That’s clearly not what I meant. If we’re going to work together, I’m going to need a bit more professionalism on your part.”
“Speaking of work,” he says, leaning back in his chair and running a hand roughly through his thick hair, “I see a fun run is next on my list of ambassador duties?”
“Yes. The Santa Turkey Trot this weekend.” I feel only mildly ridiculous saying it.
“The what now?”
My lips pull into a smile. “As you heard in Chanda’s presentation this morning, we’re all about Christmas here.”
“I got that vibe from the eight-foot tree in the lobby, yeah.”
“So next weekend’s fundraiser is called a turkey trot because it’s on Thanksgiving.”
“And where does Santa come in?”
“You and the rest of the runners will be wearing Santa hats.”
He stares at me and I stare back, trying not to smirk.
“You’re enjoying yourself too much.” His voice is low but laced with amusement.
“I think I’m enjoying myself just enough.” It feels good to joke around with him, and it amazes me that despite everything that we’ve gone through, I can still be myself around Ben.
“Will you be running?”
I snort loudly, not even attempting to stifle it. “I haven’t changed that much in ten years, Ben.”
“Yes, you have.” He says it softly.
“W-well,” I stammer, flustered. “I still would never run voluntarily. Someone would have to be chasing me.”
His eyebrows raise and he grins. “I think that could be arranged.”
I can’t think of a witty response, so I ball up my napkin and throw it at his head, missing spectacularly.
Ben laughs and pushes himself to stand. “Alright, alright. I’ve got to get going. Regular season opener tonight.”
Right. The hockey star has to go be a hockey star.
“Of course. Thank you again for lunch.” I pause, giving myself a moment to choose my words carefully. “And thank you for earlier. When you gave Chanda the abbreviated version of our history.”
