CHAPTER FIVE Emily
CHAPTER FIVE
Emily
H e leads us to a booth and motions for me to get in. I oblige, and he slides down the seat in front of me. The diner smells like fried food and coffee, it’s perfect. This, I think, is my escape for the night. Just the right kind of a normal, unremarkable evening to give me a break from my usual reality.
As we wiggle our way into the booth, our knees accidentally brush; he looks at me with a smile, then hands me the menu. Since I am in my element of not making calculated decisions, I choose the largest, dirtiest, most outrageous burger and milkshake combo I can find.
“Still having a hard day?” the guy asks.
“Try a hard life.” I smile sarcastically.
As our orders arrive, I’m stunned. I’ve started getting used to the portion sizes in New York, but they still catch me off guard every time. Then again, with a meal called the ‘King Kong Combo,’ it shouldn’t be surprising to see a burger as big as my face and a milkshake as tall as my arms propped up. But it’s okay, I guess. I’m here for the wedges. I press my lips together and look at the guy in front of me, whose smirk mirrors my growing discomfort.
He reaches for his order—a decent-sized double cheeseburger—and looks at me. I make a move to reach for my mountain burger, and— oh my God, is that mac and cheese inside the burger? I eye his food and wish that I ordered that instead. This is going to be the death of me.
That’s what you get for letting loose, Emily. I guess I could just have it for takeout? But the buns are already soggy, and I think it’s sticking there.
“I can practically hear the gears turning in your head,” he asks suddenly. “And your death stare isn’t exactly subtle. Want to trade?” he offers, amusement dancing in his eyes.
“You’ll eat this monstrosity?” I cringe.
“Yeah, how bad can it be?” He immediately swaps our orders without hesitation, bless him.
I watch as he takes a bite of the thing. To my surprise, his eyes light up with shock and delight.
“Okay, I take it back,” he says around a mouthful. “This is insane, but in a good way.”
I laugh, relieved. “Better you than me.”
He grins and nods toward my much more manageable double cheeseburger. “How’s the sane option?”
“Perfect,” I reply, taking a bite. It’s delicious, comforting even—exactly what I needed.
For a moment, we eat in silence, the noise of the diner filling the gaps. I steal glances at him between bites, noticing how relaxed he seems, even as he tackles the absurd burger like it’s no big deal. It’s kind of cute, actually.
“I’ve never done this before.” I confess as I take another bite.
“Eat a burger?” he asks, confused.
I chuckle. “No. Get dinner with a random stranger who saw my outburst.”
“You should really stop calling me ‘stranger’, I’m–” he starts.
“No, don’t.” I put my hand up in a panicked attempt to stop him. “Giving you a name would mean that this is real. And I’m sort of on a cloud today. Bad breakup, terrible jobs, and all that. And for tonight, I just want to be… somewhere else for a bit.” I say, downing another bite.
“I get that. And I respect that,” he says between mouthfuls. “If that’s the case, I assume you don’t want to talk about anything remotely connected to reality?”
“Yes. Exactly,” I nod, impressed that he did not think I was weird and just simply went along with it.
“Okay, no reality checks tonight,” he says. “Cheers to the fake us.” Instead of clinking our drinks, he hoists his giant burger. I can’t help but laugh as I raise mine to match.
His presence is surprisingly… good. He doesn’t give off the ‘creepy stalker’ vibes I’ve conditioned myself to expect from strange men in questionable situations. Still, I keep a mental note to stay in public where witnesses abound, just in case. A healthy dose of paranoia never hurt anyone.
But even when I let my mind wander into every worst-case scenario—abduction, fraud, or, I don’t know, some elaborate con involving identity theft—I’m oddly at ease. There’s something eerily familiar about him. It’s disarming, but not in a bad way.
He puts two straws in my giant ass milkshake and motions for me to drink. “Go on, Buttercup.”
“Buttercup?” I laugh, but I take a sip of the thick strawberry milkshake.
He shrugs. “Do you prefer Tantrum?” He shoots me a wink that warms my insides before taking a sip from the other straw.
I’m about to retort when I realize we’re sharing one milkshake, and our faces suddenly close—too close. I instinctively pull back, straw still in my mouth, and splatter some milkshake on his face. He bursts out laughing, and despite myself, I can’t help but smile.
I grab a napkin and, without thinking, start wiping his nose, only to realize a moment too late how intimate the gesture is. I quickly withdraw my hand and retreat again.
“Is something wrong, or are you always this jumpy?” he teases, grabbing the napkin from my hand. He gently wipes my cheek before finishing off the milkshake on his nose.
“I…” I start, but the words catch in my throat. I don’t know how to explain the nerves swirling inside me.
I don’t want him to think that I’m being too comfortable around him. Or that I’m flirting back. I don’t know what I feel about this guy, but it’s too soon for me to even consider any feeling at all. If I show gestures that are too friendly—like wiping the tip of his nose—I might give off the wrong impression.
He studies me for a moment, the teasing look in his eyes softening into something more thoughtful. “You don’t have to say anything. We can just be...whatever this is,” he says, waving his hand between us.
I nod, grateful for the out. “Yeah, whatever this is.”
We sit in silence for a moment, the buzz of the diner around us, and I focus on my burger, taking a deliberate bite to fill the space.
When I glance up, he’s watching me again, but this time there’s something different in his expression—something mischievous. His eyes twinkle, and a slow smirk stretches across his face, the kind that suggests he’s just come up with a brilliant, possibly ridiculous idea.
“What?” I ask warily, setting down my burger.
He leans back in his chair, tapping his fingers on the edge of the table like he’s preparing to unveil a master plan. “How about a game?” he says. And I look at him with raised eyebrows. “Two truths and a lie. You don’t have to tell me which one’s the lie if you don’t want to.”
I briefly consider, then say. “Okay, sounds good. It’s fine, though, I can still tell you.” I smile and take another sip of the milkshake. “You go.”
“Alright,” he says. He thinks for a while, then continues, “Um… I’ve climbed Mount Everest, I can speak Japanese, and I rescued a stray puppy from a burning building.” He holds up one finger for each statement.
He reaches for a handful of potato wedges, pushing the basket toward me. I take one, dip it in ketchup, and study him.
“Puppy is the lie,” I say, confident in my guess.
He shakes his head with a smirk. “Nope. Japanese is the lie. The puppy story was real—quite the adventure, actually.”
I stare at him, surprised. “Seriously? You actually ran into a burning building for a puppy?”
He laughs, leaning back with an easy confidence. He hooks his arm on the seat behind him and casually crosses his legs. So effortlessly cool. “What, I don’t look like the puppy-saving type?”
“Honestly, no,” I admit, shaking my head. He chuckles, and in the low restaurant lighting and his jacket off, I catch a glimpse of his tattoos. There’s an intricate design on his forearm that I can’t quite make out, just faint lines and patterns. And suddenly, I’m imagining him—this rugged, tough-looking guy—cradling a tiny puppy in his arms as flames flicker around him. It’s a mental image that somehow makes him more intriguing, but then I realize something.
I lean in, propping my elbows on the table and narrowing my eyes at him. “Alright, be honest. Is that puppy story just your secret weapon to make women go all soft and find you irresistibly charming?”
He mirrors my movement, leaning in close, his eyes glinting with something playful. “Why? Is it working?” he asks, his voice low and teasing.
I tilt my head, giving him an unimpressed look. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
He grins, unfazed. “I think you’d like it, too.”
“Whatever, I just have a soft spot for puppies,” I say, taking another wedge. I cannot look this guy in the eye, I will falter. Damn it, how can someone be so good at flirting?
“Alright, whatever you say. The story’s real, though,” he leans back. “Your turn,” he says, thankfully dropping it.
“Okay, um… one, I won a hot dog eating contest in college. Two, I went on a hiking trip in the Arizona desert. Three, I accidentally crashed a corporate gathering thinking it was my friend’s costume party.”
“Hm,” he says, considering. “Has to be the hot dog eating contest.”
“Wrong. I still have the plaque displayed in my room. Quite proud of it, too—I ate twenty hot dogs in fifteen minutes,” I say. “The lie was actually the hiking trip. I’m deadly allergic to dust.”
He pauses for a while, eyeing me intently. “Your turn to be honest,” he says. “That hot dog bit was your version of the puppy-saving, isn’t it? Makes you quirky and intriguing.”
“Are you intrigued?” I say, crossing my arms.
“I’ve been intrigued since this morning, Tantrum, and hotdogs have nothing to do with it,” he says.
I can feel my cheeks warm slightly, and I quickly glance away, pretending to be interested in my milkshake. “Well, I do have that natural charm,” I say, trying to gain control of the situation.
“You really do,” he says slowly, and he falls silent, as if thinking of what to say. After a few seconds, he clears his throat. “Anyway,” he continues. “Sucks about your allergy. Hiking is fun,” he comments.
“I’d love to try hiking, but I’d probably die before I reach the peak.” I chuckle.
“Outdoor dust isn’t as bad as indoor dust, you know. And there are trails that aren’t that dusty. Maybe one day, we can try them,” he suggests, his smile as charming as ever. We. Yeah, right. Like I’ll ever see him again.
“Maybe, let me stock up on inhalers and antihistamines first.”
He chuckles. “If not hiking, what’s your hobby?”
I never really thought about that. I don’t have the time to indulge in a hobby these days. Between my jobs, applications, and chores, I barely have time to breathe, let alone maintain a hobby.
“Swimming?” he adds. “Skydiving?” He grins.
“Don’t get your hopes up, I’m not that interesting,” I reply, rolling my eyes. “I’m more of a ‘hang out at a café and overthink my life’ type.”
He chuckles, and says, “I highly doubt that.”
“It’s true! Some days, it feels like I’m just coasting along,” I add, my voice trailing at the end.
Ignoring my highly personal admission, he narrows his eyes at me, leaning in, “You’ve got an adventurous side, I can feel it.”
“Adventurous?” I scoff, although I can’t help but smile. “You’ve seen my hot dog prowess; that’s it.” Though I admit, it would be nice not to worry about things so much and have the luxury to live the life I want for myself. Maybe I could even hike… with a tattooed stranger…
“Maybe you’re just waiting for the right moment to unleash it,” he suggests, his eyes sparkling with mischief.
We finish our dinner going through whirlwinds of two truths and a lie. It’s ironic how escaping from reality makes both of us find out random facts about each other. For instance, I found out that he once locked himself out of his apartment wearing nothing but underwear. I’m not gonna lie that the thought of him standing in a hallway looking like that didn’t send my imagination running wild. I also found out that he’s sort of an adrenaline junkie—bungee jumping, scuba diving, all that.
I somehow feel that my stories are so boring and pale in comparison, it’s not fair to him. The only information I provided to him was that I won the school quiz bee five times in a row, nobody knows I can sing, and that I collect vintage postcards—which, again, nobody knows.
“All this and yet I don’t know your name.” He leans back and crosses his arms.
“And you never will.” I counter with a playful smile. Just then, our bill arrives, and I reach for my wallet to cover my giant portion of the meal, but he waves me off.
“I got it, I invited you, didn’t I?” he says as he leaves cash and a huge tip.
“Ugh. I wish more customers would tip like you.” I grumble as we leave the diner.
He opens the door for me, and we walk the quiet streets of New York City. We walk side by side, our arms occasionally brushing against each other. Conversation is flowing effortlessly and the city around us seems to fade into the background, leaving just the two of us and the shared understanding that, for tonight, at least, we’ve managed to escape.