“Uh-huh.” I look back out the window.
He thinks out loud. “So that means it’s literally spoken prehistory . . .”
I look back over at him.
“What?” he asks.
“You’re odd.”
“You don’t find that interesting?”
“I do.”
“So how am I odd?”
“‘Literally spoken prehistory . . .’” I widen my eyes at him. “What does that even mean?”
He exhales heavily with a subtle shake of his head. “If you don’t know, then I’m not telling you.”
I go back to my dumbass scenery watching. “Can we have french fries for dinner?”
He glances over at me. “And I’m the odd one?”
“I’ve got a hankering.” I picture my delicious meal tonight. “With a hamburger.”
“Yes! Hamburgers,” Basil calls from the seat behind. “I’m down.”
“Did you know that it drops to five degrees Celsius in winter in San Sebastián?” Christopher replies.
More facts.
I cross my arms and snuggle down on his shoulder for a sleep. “I do now.”
There’s a reason people talk about San Sebastián in Spain.
It’s vibrant, colorful, and one of the most beautiful places I have ever been to.
Set on the coast, it has it all. Today we browsed the township, visited the Sacred Heart giant statue of Jesus on Monte Urgull. We went swimming at the beach this afternoon, and now it’s early evening. We are looking for somewhere to have dinner.
“Here?” Kimberly asks. We all peer into the packed pub.
“Looks popular.” Bodie shrugs. “This will do.” They all walk in, and I notice Christopher’s shoulders slump.
“Can we get a table for six, please?” Kimberly asks.
“Sure.” The waitress smiles. “This way.” We follow her through the crowded restaurant and take a seat in the courtyard.
“What’s wrong?” I whisper to Christopher as we walk along behind her.
“Nothing.” He puts his arm around my waist and follows me through.
“You look like something is wrong.”
“I’m just so sick of shit food,” he whispers as we get to the table.
“Oh.” I frown. I thought we’d been eating amazingly for our budget.
He pulls out my chair, and I sit down. We order drinks and look through the menu.
“What are you having?” I ask everyone.
They all discuss the choices and chat away, and I glance over to see Christopher staring at the menu, deflated.
“You don’t like any of this?” I ask.
He forces a smile. “It’s good. Don’t worry.” He taps me on the thigh with his big hand as if to reassure me.
He always goes with the flow. He’s never once picked where we go. “What would you eat if you could eat anything in the world?” I ask him softly so that the others can’t hear.
His eyes stay fixed on the menu. “I would have bluefin tuna sashimi with daikon and ginger for entrée. Beluga caviar with lobster and sage butter sauce.”
I frown.
“Followed by a glass of Macallan scotch and White Truffle Bliss for dessert.”