Page 28 of Masquerade Mistake
“You can send it back if you don’t like it,” he says. “People do it all the time.”
“I know, but then I have to wait for them to remake my food. Or worse, offend the waiter.”
“That’s literally their job, Claire. You’re not going to offend the waiter.”
I stare at him, knowing he’s right, but determined to stand my ground on this one. “I know what I like, and there’s no need to order differently.”
“But these are just hot dogs,” he protests.
“And I love hot dogs, and I like them my way.”
He pauses, apparently deep in thought. “Okay, I have an idea.” I start to shake my head, but he holds his hands up to stop me. “Just hear me out. We order two hot dogs. You make one the way you like it, and the other the way you think I’ll like it. You keep the one you made for yourself, but you trade the other one for one I’ve made for you.”
I sigh, not sure I like it, but not hating the idea either.
“If it’s no good, I’ll take it back,” he continues. “I’ll even buy you another. What do you say?”
“I guess.” I try to sound as doubtful as possible, but it’s not enough to keep him from rushing the cart and ordering our hot dogs. Once he does, he gives me two naked dogs.
“I’ll go stand over there while you dress these. When you’re done, I’ll come back and have the guy dress mine.”
I roll my eyes. “You better not peek,” I say. As much as I hate this whole idea, I have to admit it’s kind of fun.
Once he’s a safe distance away, I get to work. On mine, I put just ketchup, nothing else. I’m a purist, and don’t like much to get in the way of my hot dog and me. But for Ethan, I have a feeling he’s more adventurous with his food. I lean over and look at what my options are. I want to add some of everything, but I feel like that’s cheating. So I skip the ketchup on his, and add mustard, bacon, sauerkraut, and green onions. I’m not certain about it, but it seems like something he’d like.
Once the hot dogs are fully dressed, I walk in the opposite direction, holding the hot dogs out of Ethan’s view as he approaches the cart with his two undressed dogs. I try not to look as he gets them ready, even though I’m super curious. Then I laugh as he walks backwards in my direction, so I can’t see what the hot dogs look like.
“On three,” he says. I’m giggling as I count down with him. When we say three, he turns around, and we both present the other with our dogs. And when I see the dog he presents to me, I’m floored. It’s cheese and relish with bacon bits, nothing else—just the way Finn likes it.
“Not even close,” he says with a laugh as he takes my hot dog, then wrinkles his nose as he sniffs the sauerkraut.
“I guess you’re not a fan of fermented food,” I say with a laugh, still in shock over the hot dog he handed me.
“I’ve never had it,” he admits. After a moment of hesitation, he takes a bite. His face relaxes as he chews. “Not bad.” He takes another bite, and then nods at the one in my hand. I notice that the other one he’s holding looks exactly the same as the one he gave me.
“You made my hot dog the way you like it, I take it.” I try to sound nonchalant, but inside I’m all over the map. If Ethan and Finn have never met, how can they have so many similarities? This has to be a sign.
“I know, not super original. But it really is the best way to eat a hot dog.”
“I disagree,” I say, holding up the dog he made for me, then making a show of scraping off the relish. “Now it’s perfect.” I bite into it and it brings me back to being here with Finn, eating the rest of his hot dog when he got bored of eating and wanted to run around. Even with the essence of pickles all over it, it’s pretty tasty. “You did good,” I say, mouth full of food. I swallow. “Better than I did, at least. You must have me all figured out.”
“Not completely.” He nudges my knee with his. “But the second part of our date could help with that.”
We finish eating, and I pull a baby wipe out of my purse to clean my hands. I offer the package to him, and he accepts, but he’s obviously amused by it.
“What, you don’t carry hand wipes everywhere you go?” I tease. I realize my mistake, though. What other twenty-something carries baby wipes around…unless they have a, you know, baby? Or in my case, a kid who likes to touch everything.
“It’s not a bad idea,” he says, rubbing his hands together. He smells them. “Lavender and baby powder. Interesting.”
“I mean, you could go on smelling like mustard and sauerkraut.” I lean into him, and he leans back.
“Nah, baby powder is way better.”
We stand, and he laces his fingers with mine. My heartbeat picks up, recalling the end of our last date. Is he going to kiss me now? I want him to, but I’m also hyper aware of my breath, wondering if I’ll taste like hot dogs.
He doesn’t kiss me. Instead, we walk down the street, our hands linked together like all those couples I’ve walked by in the past. I forgot how this felt. I’m not sure I ever knew how this felt. Ethan is still so much of a stranger to me, and yet I feel like I belong to him and he belongs to me. Beyond Maren and Finn, I don’t think I’ve ever felt a sense of belonging with anyone. Not even my mom. Especially not my mom. But here, my hand so casually woven with Ethan’s, I feel connected—like a missing part of me finally found its way home.
He slows as we near Literati, the bookstore I visit basically every week.