"A little bit, yeah." He tipped his head toward my breakfast tray but didn't meet my eyes. "Better than pocket eggs?"
"Hardly," I answered. "I like finely sliced melon as much as the next upper-crusty lady but there is something profoundly American about the breakfast sandwich."
That did the trick. He shifted, blinked over at me. Ogled me as if he expected me to shape-shift into a Fourth of July firecracker. And…I wanted that. I wanted his attention and I didn't care if I had to dig in my usual bag of crazy to get it. My me-ishness came in handy once in a while.
"You derive nationalist pride from a sandwich? One I believe you had encased in an English muffin?"
"Hell no. But you have to agree that breakfast sandwiches are a homegrown construct," I argued. "Mindless consumption with the purpose of checking off a box and getting another one of the day's tasks done is an American right. In our gilded, antiquated view of people in other parts of the world, breakfast still exists as a seated, plated experience with someone's little old grandmother toiling over a pot of porridge at the hearth."
Ash snatched a strawberry from my plate, popped it in his mouth while he stared at me. Then another.
Strange, population: the two of us.
He blinked and I was forced to admire his long, thick eyelashes. This prickly, discontented man had all the best things. Then he said, "She probably chops her own wood too. Right?"
"No, she does not," I cried. "She's the little old grandmother. She's not chopping wood. Her ass-kicking granddaughter does it or maybe the nice widower from down the road. He always has fresh wood for Grandma."
Ash's eyes widened and then—then he burst out laughing. It wasn't a ha ha, that was funny moment. It was one of those I might die laughing moments. And I couldn't help it, I started laughing too. We laughed and snorted and cried in the most raucous ways.
I didn't have to look around to know we'd attracted a significant amount of attention from our fellow passengers. I knew how it felt for others to stare but I had no interest in staring back at them. Not when I could stare at Ash while he seemed light and happy for the first time.
"That wasn't what I meant, you know." I brushed the tears from my lashes. "You were the one who heard it that way."
Ash rubbed the back of his neck. "There was only one way to hear it, Zelda." A quiet laugh moved through him as he spared me a quick glance. He was frowning but it was still a smile. I kind of loved that smile from him. "I can't believe you said that. My god. 'Fresh wood for Grandma.'"
"We were talking about breakfast," I said, my tone tart.
"Yeah, that widower down the road eats well at breakfast," Ash replied.
With a gasp, I slapped a hand over my mouth. "Ash Santillian, you filthy bird."
"That wasn't what I meant. You heard it that way," he replied, feeding my words back to me.
I stole the chocolate croissant off his tray since we were now in the business of sharing snacks and innuendos. "I heard it exactly the way you meant it."
I tore the croissant in half and something about that action snapped Ash out of the iridescent bubble of strange we'd wandered into because he scrambled to shake out his napkin and drop it on my lap. "Fuck, Zelda. You have crumbs all over you."
Not breaking my gaze on him, I brushed a hand down my t-shirt to dislodge the crumbs threatening his sanity. "All better."
I took a bite and knew from the flare of his eyes that a new wave of croissant confetti littered my shirt.
"Actually, it's not," he murmured, shaking his head. "Let me."
He reached over but stopped with his fingers poised a breath away from my breasts. His lips parted and I heard a pained noise rattling in the back of his throat. It hadn't occurred to him until right now that he was going to feel me up in the pursuit of crumb control.
"Mmhmm," I murmured, tipping my head to catch his gaze. "Let you do…what, exactly?"
"I—um. Hmm." He snapped back, folding his arms over his chest and staring straight ahead. "Sorry."
"About giving me the well, actually treatment over a flaky croissant or nearly fondling me?"
He didn't look at me when he asked, "Which would you prefer?"