About an hour later, Sully pulls his SUV away from the McDonald's drive-through window and glances at me sideways. "All better?" he asks, one eyebrow cocked in amusement.
I sink my teeth into a tender nugget and the familiarity makes me smile. "Yes. Thank you."
"You're welcome." I offer him a boot-shaped chunk of chicken but he declines. "So, is it just gumbo you don't like or are you always a picky eater?"
That darn dimple winks at me from his cheek. I stop mid-chew and stare. "I'm always picky," I manage to choke out. "And Hartley's family's protein-packed dishes are getting a little old. Sorry to be so much trouble."
"You're no trouble at all. It's my fault for forcing you to try something new. I just thought it'd be cool to show you some of the things New Orleans is famous for."
A red streetcar glides up next to us at the street light. I try to peek inside the windows but the only thing I see is the glare of sun staring back. I swallow the bite in my mouth. "It's not your fault. But, yeah. Trying new foods isn't really my thing. Especially now that I'm part vegan." I roll my eyes.
He laughs. "Well, there is one more food I'd like you to try. But I promise—you're going to love this one."
And I want so badly to believe him because ugh! The expression on his face is so happy and sweet, and I want to make sure I see it again and again. A thousand agains if at all possible. "What is it?" I ask, stuffing a French fry into my mouth.
He grins. "I want it to be a surprise."
"But surprises aren't any fun. They're only fun for the people in charge of them."
"Surprises are all about fun. I think it's even the definition."
"Surprises make me anxious," I tell him. "And they come with expectations. I'm supposed to be all polite and excited, but what if I don't like the surprise? Then I have to fake liking it or risk hurting your feelings. And if I fake it, then I'm just a big, fat liar. And if I'm a big, fat liar, then that means our entire friendship is based on deceit. And not only that, but I'll probably feel like I owe you a debt. And I don't want to be in debt. I don't need that kind of pressure."
His eyes narrow. "Are you serious right now?"
"Yes." I take a sip of soda. The bubbles burst over my taste buds and fizz down my throat. "I suppose the idea of surprising someone comes from the right place, but the person giving the surprise doesn't even know what the intended might want. They're only giving them what they think they might want. So if you think about it, it's not a gift at all. It's a burden."
"So, what is it that you want, Gwen?" The corner of his mouth tugs up slowly. "If you could have anything in the whole wide world right now, what would it be?"
I don't even have to think about it. "Something sugary." I hold up my cola. "This is the first real treat I've had since I got here. There's no sugar whatsoever at Hartley's house. They don't even put it in their coffee."
His eyes light up like the sun and a wide grin spreads across his face. "Then you're going to love what I have planned for you," he says. "See? Not all surprises are scary. Sometimes you just have to trust that people know what they're doing."
And I sigh because that's what Sully does to me. I never thought I'd be the kind of girl who swoons over a boy, but here I am, a boy-swooning, breathy mess. He probably thinks I have some weird respiratory condition or something.
A few minutes later, we're walking along Bourbon Street when Sully steers me toward an outdoor cafe surrounded by magnolia trees. The flower blossoms are so big and so white, they don't even look real, but I know they are because their sweet, lemony scent envelopes me as soon as we enter the patio. "Wait right here," he says, pulling out a chair.
Sitting by myself, I take the opportunity to observe my surroundings, from the unusually pleasant breeze lifting the edges of my hair to the horse-drawn carriage rides clip-clopping down the street. Everything in New Orleans feels so alive, and right now I'm in the middle of it all.
Sully reappears with a smile and two golden squares wrapped in thick white napkins. He hands one over. "Now tell me this isn't the best thing you've ever eaten in your life."
I bring the sticky, clump of dough to my nose and sneeze when I suck in a lung-full of powdered sugar.
He plops into the seat next to me and laughs. "You have to smell it first?"
I'm giggling, too. "Well, yeah. I have to see if it's safe."
"You're a very interesting girl. Has anyone ever told you that?"
I can tell by the way he says it that he means it as a compliment. And the answer's no, but I don't let on. I like the idea of him thinking I'm someone different than who I am. Someone fascinating and thought-provoking instead of a boring girl from Middle-Of-Nowheresville, Ohio.
I sink my teeth into the warm square and my eyes roll back in my head. "Wow. What is this?"
He takes a bite of his own. "It's called a Beignet. Pretty good, huh?"
"It's really good. I've never tasted anything like it. Is it a doughnut?"
"It's a cross between a doughnut and a French pastry. A lot of people have them for breakfast, but they're acceptable any time of day." He looks at me with a satisfied smirk. "So, is it the best thing you've ever eaten, or what?"
I can't lie. It's like a little slice of heaven. "I think it might be. Can you only get them in New Orleans?"
He thinks for a moment. "I'm not sure. But they're one of the things we're most known for."
I take a tiny nibble and then another, trying not to scarf the entire thing down. "I've missed sugar. All this vegan crap is getting old. I don't understand how Hartley can live without this, especially since it's right down the street. She used to binge-eat cake and brownies, and now—nothing. Except maybe fruit. How boring is that?"
He takes a big bite of his Beiget and looks down at the table. "I don't know. Strong willpower, I guess. Have you ever asked her about it?"
"About what? Her new diet?" I shrug. "She just said her and her mom made a lifestyle change when they moved here. I'm thinking it had something to do with Jolie, too. She strikes me as a super healthy kind of person."
He's still looking down. "Maybe—"
A trio of musicians interrupt him, strumming a slow jazzy tune on their instruments. I hadn't even realized they set up camp nearby. An older man and woman stand up from the table next to ours and begin slow dancing in a small clearing off to the side. After a moment, three more couples join them.
Sully looks up through his lashes. "If I asked you to dance with me, would you say yes?"
A tingly sensation swells in my chest. I have never in my life danced with a boy. Part of me wants to say no, too terrified I'll make a fool of myself, but a much bigger part of me wants to say yes. Yes. YES! "Okay."
The word is out of my mouth before I can stop it.
I don't want to stop it.
I set down the Beignet and wipe my sticky fingers on the napkin. When I look up, Sully's holding out his hand. Bile rises in my throat. I force it down.
We move to a fair distance from the other couples, and very slowly, Sully's arms slide around my waist. He brings me close, his hands pressing into the small of my back. An unexpected breath caresses my cheek. "Is this all right?" he asks.
No matter how hard I try, I can't look at him. "It's fine." My voice is so low it's almost a whisper. I wrap my arms around his neck and breathe him in. He smells like summer sun and seeing the ocean for the first time, and all things scary and wonderful. My heart drums in my chest, so loud I can hear it in my ears. I'm certain he can hear it, too.
"You, um, have some sugar on your cheek." My knees weaken as Sully brushes his thumb along my skin, leaving a trail of fire in its wake.
We sway back and forth, our bodies pressing together with every step, and every thought I've ever had and every memory I've ever made drift away, leaving me lost and yet somehow found. We're no longer moving as two individual people, we're one, fused together in the moment.
Something tugs under my chin, the sensation so light I think I may have imagined it. But when my head tips up, Sully's eyes meet mine. "Is it okay if I kiss you?"
His words are quiet, barely there. I must be dreaming, because things like this don't happen in real life. My eyes flutter and close, and when I open them, he's still there, holding me tight. For an excruciatingly long moment, his gaze melts into mine. And it's too much. Way too much.
If he tries to kiss me, please let me know what to do!
Slivers of panic and pleasure shoot through my entire body. Somehow, Sully moves closer and tilts his head to the right.
I tilt mine.
He pulls back, ever so gently, and tilts his head to the left.
I tilt mine.
Sully blinks. Once. Twice. He tilts his head once more, but this time when I mimic his movement, he frowns.
Oh my God—something's wrong! We haven't even kissed yet and something's very wrong!
"Gwen." The word vibrates through me, all the way to my toes. "Is there something you'd like to tell me?"