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“Well, normally I would get a burger,” I say, “but this new Fresh Berry French Toast Bake is calling my name.” I lick my lips and he chuckles.
“It does look delicious,” he says. “God, it must have a million calories.”
“That’s what vacations are for. Especially road trips.”
“Eating unhealthy food?” he asks, eyeing me. I laugh.
“Yeah, it’s like a rite of passage. Besides, we'll have plenty of healthy meals on the road, too. We brought plenty of food to cook.”
He squirms like he’s trying to convince himself it’s okay to eat an unhealthy meal once in a while, and I don’t know if it’s adorable or sad. “Come on, Oli,” I encourage, playfully. “Eat the French Toast. Join the Dark Side.”
He smirks at me and I laugh. “You know you want to,” I tease. “We can be bloated together.”
“Christ, all right,” he murmurs. “Anything to get you to shut the hell up.”
I laugh as his eyes twinkle with amusement. The waitress returns with our drinks and we order our food. When she leaves again I grab the wooden triangle next to me with orange and yellow pegs slotted into the holes on top, and shove it towards the center of the table.
“What’s this?” he asks.
“It’s a game. You have to jump the pegs and try to leave as few left as possible. Wanna try?”
He does, and there’s four left when he’s finished. “Not bad for a first timer,” I say, and he purses his lips.
“You can do better?”
“Watch and learn,” I say. When I’m finished and there’s only two left, he narrows his eyes at me. “What?”
“You cheated.”
I laugh. “I did not cheat. You can’t cheat at this game.” His eyes are twinkling again and I shake my head. He tries again and does a little better, with only three left this time. He keeps trying until our food arrives and I decide I should take a photo. My stomach knots when I think about sending it to Mom like I promised. Less due to guilt over Oliver and I and more because, honestly, I don’t want to share this with anyone. This moment, with him, us. I want to keep it for myself and lock it away safely, along with all the other things I’m learning about him.
“Ahh, yes!” he shouts, pumping his fist in the air and making the other patrons nearby turn their heads in our direction. I laugh and cover my mouth, and he flushes again as he apologies to no one in particular. “I did it,” he says in a much softer tone, gesturing to the game and the two pegs remaining, beaming at me.
“And I’m very proud,” I tell him, wishing more than anything I could kiss him right now.
Eight
HUNTER
After our meals, we return to the shop to pay for our food (the French Toast was absolutely worth the calories by the way) and to browse a bit more. I purchase a pecan log that I tell Oliver is delicious. A mixture of nougat, caramel, and of course, pecans.
Oliver is enraptured by a toy parrot that repeats what you say, moving its beak and wings as it does. I cave and purchase it for him when he isn’t looking. We have batteries in the RV so we don’t need those, and even though it’s clearly a child’s toy, I have a feeling he never really had much of a childhood, and it makes me happy to see him enjoying something so simple.
We use the bathroom and then climb back into the RV and head towards Philadelphia. I think one of my favorite things about being on this trip with Oliver is how dressed down he is. I’ve seen him in sweats a couple of times but never jeans or shorts, and he looks sexy as hell in both. His hair is less styled to perfection than usual, and I love the rumpled look on him. Makes it look like he just got fucked.
As I drive, I look over and see him pressing buttons on his kindle. I didn’t even know he had a kindle, or enjoyed reading.
“What are you reading?” I ask.
“Oh, nothing right now. I can’t find anything that is keeping my attention unforuntately.”
He sounds utterly morose, his bottom lip jutting out slightly in a pout that I don’t think he even realizes he’s doing, but it’s adorable. “What do you like?”
He shrugs. “Fiction, mysteries, suspense, really anything with a good plot and decent characters that will let me escape for a bit.”
“You read any romance?”
His cheeks pinken again and I can’t help smiling when he clears his throat. “Not very much, no, I couldn’t get into reading about straight sex, believe it or not. I tried it when I thought…” he trails off for a second. “When I thought it might help me…” he trails off again and I nod. God, did he make himself read straight romance or watch straight porn to try and convince himself he wasn’t gay? Or to try and make himself not gay? I hate that he felt so ashamed and wanted to be anything other than who he is.
