26: Favorite fruit
“I took as many extra classes as I could in high school,” he said, “and I graduated early with a partial scholarship. Though I went to school in Chicago, I got to live in a dorm, so it already felt like I’d escaped.”
“And then what? When did you get into hedge funds?”
“That happened gradually, through acquaintances in grad school, which I also attended here.”
Funny. Despite his disgust over his childhood and his worldwide travels since then, he’d never taken his roots out of Chicago. The city would always be a part of who he was.
“What about you?” he asked. “You seem perfect for a law career. I’m surprised you quit.”
She made a face. “I like some parts of it, sure, but I felt confined there. Also, it’s not like I got to work on whatever case I wanted. I was assigned jobs, and I had to do them. Even the ones I didn’t agree with. The firm I worked for took on whoever would pay.”
“That’s the way it is, though. Right?”
She made a noncommittal noise. “It would be nice to have the freedom to do the job with morals intact.”
They drove in silence for a few more minutes before she spoke again.
“My mom is going to have a hundred questions for you, by the way. Sorry about that.”
“I can take it," I told her even if I wasn't sure if I could.
“Even if I tell her you’re not my boyfriend, she won’t believe it. She always thinks I’m trying to hide relationships from her.” She guffawed. “The truth is that most of my relationships don’t get to the ‘bringing home to the parents’ stage, so it’s not like I’m hiding anything.”
“What stage do they usually make it to? If you don’t mind my asking.”
He knew damn well he shouldn’t be asking.
“Um.” She worried her bottom lip between her teeth. “I’ve had a couple what you could call serious relationships. Well, maybe. I don’t know that you could even call them that. The rest were…” She eyed him. “Why are you asking me this?”
He stiffened. “I’m making friendly talk. That’s all. But if I shouldn’t—”
“What about you? Do you have a girlfriend?”
He laughed. “If I had a girlfriend, I wouldn’t have let that kiss happen.”
“I don’t know that,” she said, voice rising half an octave. “Plenty of people still would have.”
“I’m a little offended that you think I could be one of those people.”
Her lips pursed. “Don’t be. I’m practical, Logan. I know not to expect the best out of people until they show it to me. Don’t try to pretend you’re any different.”
He inclined his head. “Okay. You’re right. I’m not any different.”
“Ooh.” She bounced in her seat.
“What?”
“Fruit stand.” She pointed ahead of them. “Pull over. You’re about to pass it.”
“Honeydew?” He wrinkled his nose at the sign. “You’re serious?”
“Pull over, Logan,” she said in a voice that suggested murder if he didn’t comply.
“Okay, okay.” He pulled into the dirt and grass in front of the stand, dust billowing from the car’s tires. “It’s just that you know what people say about honeydew, right?”
“What? What do people say about honeydew?”
“That it’s a waste of space in a fruit salad. Honeydew sucks.”
“I love it. It’s my favorite fruit."
“I knew there was something not quite right about you.”
She shot him one of those dirty looks he loved and got out of the car. Fighting a grin, he followed.
“The problem,” she said, matter-of-fact, “is that most people cut honeydew before it’s ripe. So of course it’s the world’s least favorite fruit, or whatever you said it was.”
She stopped at the stand, where an old farmer in a straw hat hovered over his rows of melons, berries, and corn on the cob. They were barely out of the suburbs, and yet it felt like they’d entered another land altogether.
“Hm.” Terri pursed her lips and felt a honeydew. “This one is almost there…”
“Sweet as nectar,” the old farmer said. “Get you some while they’re still here. They go quick.”
Terri moved on to the next melon. Arms folded, Logan watched her. Part of their unagreed-upon game was that he needed to act annoyed with her, but he couldn’t stop grinning.
“Perfect!” she squealed when she found the right one.
“What about these?” Logan nodded at the cartons of berries. “We should bring something for your mom. Does she like blueberries?”
“Yeah, she does, actually.” Terri paused. “I make a really good blueberry pie.”
“Is that your way of saying I might get to taste it?”
A smile sweeter than any pie on earth danced at the corners of her lips.
“Maybe. If we stay in Girard long enough for me to make it.”
“Then I’ll make sure we stay long enough.” He selected several containers of the berries. After paying for the fruit, they climbed back into the car.
“Why do I feel like you want to taste my pie because you’re looking for a chance to judge me?” Terri secured the berries and melon in the backseat and buckled up.
“I’m offended.”
Though he said it mockingly, he really kind of was. Did he really come across as that much of an asshole?
“So you know how to bake.” He pulled the car back onto the highway.
“You surprised?”
“Yes, but not because I thought you seemed like you couldn’t or anything. More surprised in a pleasant way. It’s nice learning new things about people.”
What he really meant was that it was nice learning new things about her. “You look like you don’t eat pie.”
“Oh, really?” he laughed. “Based on what?”
“Based on…” She waved her hand at him, then cleared her throat and looked away. “You know, you, uh… you look very healthy. Fit. Health conscious.”
“If that’s your way of saying I look good, thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
Logan realized he was still smiling. He wondered if the whole drive would be this way. Pretty soon, his cheeks would be sore. Not like he minded.