Dear Heart, I Hate You

The man leaned toward me and said in a confidential tone, “I used to spin in them too as a kid. I get it.”

I was wearing a victory smile as Cal handed me a menu, but I pushed it away. “Huh-uh.”

“You’re not hungry?” He pouted at me in disappointment.

I grinned back at him. “Oh no, I’m hungry. But you said it’s your favorite place, so I want you to order for me.”

This was a new one for me; I’d never allowed a guy to order a meal for me before. Chalk this up to another fi

rst in my weekend of firsts.

“That I can do.” He winked at me and then greeted our waitress when she approached.

Cal ended up ordering identical meals for us, their famous Boston burger with homemade pickles and fries. I had no idea why the burger was so mouthwateringly delicious, but it was. It might have been the seasoning or maybe it was the bun, but whatever it was, it was one of the best burgers I’d ever eaten. The homemade pickles and fries were top-notch too.

After pushing back my plate, I rubbed my stomach, feeling overly stuffed. “That was so good.”

“I told you. But save some room,” he warned.

I patted my belly. “There’s no more room. It’s full.”

“But you can’t leave without having a slice of their Boston cream pie.”

Scrunching up my face in an attempt to pout, I said, “Cal, I’m stuffed. Like a turkey on Thanksgiving day.”

“Then I’ll only order one piece and we can share it. You have to try it. You won’t be sorry.” He raised his eyebrows, knowing that I would give in.

“Fine,” I huffed. “What’s in it?”

He gave me an incredulous look. “What? You’ve never had Boston cream pie before?”

“I haven’t. I’ve seen it, of course, but I’ve never actually tried it.”

Cal shook his head at me and clucked his tongue. “Jules, I don’t know how you’ve lived such a sheltered life all these years. Let me introduce you to the best thing to ever hit your taste buds.”

The waitress brought over a piece of what looked like cream-filled sponge cake covered with a layer of chocolate drizzle.

“Ladies first,” Cal said, pushing the plate in front of me.

Eager to please, I grabbed my fork and took a bite. Holy hell. It was unbelievable, so moist and light with just the right amount of sweetness.

“Jules?”

I heard Cal say my name, but he sounded far away. When he spoke again, I threw my hand up between us to stop him.

“Don’t talk to me. I’m busy.” When he laughed and tried to stick his fork into the cake, I said, “I will hurt you,” poising my fork over his hand.

“Hey! You didn’t even want any, remember?”

“I was stupid then, but I’m much smarter now. Get your own piece.”

I glared at him, half serious and half joking. But when he flagged down our waitress to order another piece for himself, I was relieved I didn’t have to share.

Looking sadly at the crumbs left on the plate a few minutes later, I had to stop myself from scraping them up and set down my fork instead.

“Done?” he asked, grinning at me.

I nodded, too full to speak. Cal paid our check and we walked out of the diner and down the sidewalk, the fact of my leaving hanging in the air like a little cloud of sadness over our heads.