Page 103 of The Rebel

As we started walking, I put an arm around her waist. Nowthat we were off the clock, I wanted to touch her as much as possible. I managed to fight my instincts while we were in the building, but when it was just the two of us? No fucking way. And why should I?

“That’s true. How did you discover all these places?” she inquired.

“Easy. Trial and error. I do have my favorite restaurants, obviously, but other than that, I like to try new things.”

“All right. I’m very excited to taste the”—she wiggled her eyebrows—“meatballs.”

“What was that for?” I pointed to her eyebrows. “You trying to test me?”

“Maybe. Is it working?”

She was being mischievous today, and I fucking loved it. I kissed her forehead.

“Yes, it is, so stop doing it. It’s working a bit too well.” I took her good mood as a sign that she wasn’t worrying about her parents as much. Still, I wanted to make sure. “You spoke to your family today?”

“I keep texting with Mom. And what do you know? Dad is texting more too. They’re adapting, I guess. But it’s hard to watch everything unfold from a distance.”

“Anytime you want to fly out there, just let me know, okay? I mean it.”

“Anthony, I can’t just go back and forth.”

“Yes, you can. And I’ll come with you. As often as you want.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” she said as we arrived at the deli. There were already two people waiting in line.

“That looks like a hot dog with meatballs,” Daisy said, standing on her toes and looking past the customers.

“Perfect way to describe it. But it doesn’t taste like a hot dog at all.”

Five minutes later, she was devouring her portion while we were walking toward Bourbon for our next stop.

“This is delicious, but how are we going to hop from one place to another when I’m already half full?”

“We can split the next portion,” I suggested, keeping her even closer as we turned onto Bourbon.

“Great idea. My parents always say that the secret to a good relationship is sharing food.”

“What?” I was taken by complete surprise.

“Mom always steals stuff from Dad’s plate. He never gets upset over it either.”

“Why wouldn’t she just put stuff on her own plate?”

“She’s forever dieting. She jokes that if she takes it from Dad’s plate, it has fewer calories.”

“That makes zero sense!”

“I know. But we all have our quirks. God, my parents have been married forever.”

“Same with my parents. They met when Mom was eighteen or nineteen.”

“It’s crazy, isn’t it?” she whispered as I led her through the crowds. “That they’ve made it work all these years.”

“I know.”

I realized we had that in common: parents who met at a young age and were happily marriedandgrandparents who were initially against their union but then came around. And yet we were both completely different from our parents. Neither of us had sought anything serious until now.

“What are you thinking about?” she asked.