Imperfectpictures

5/20/2019

(IPFF) Episode Three: First Pictures

Read Now

Episode Three: First Pictures

I could not describe the headache that I woke up with, the pounding in my head at the back of my skull persistent and sharp. My entire body was aching, and my stomach was a little bit unhappy still as well. Jet lag was a bitch. Or, maybe just too much Chinese food.

Just after seven in the morning I finally forced myself out of the extremely soft bed and took about four ibuprofen despite knowing how terrible for me it was to do so. I stayed in the shower for way too long, just leaning against the cool tiles as the two shower heads hit my back and front at the same time. I never wanted to get out.

Edward was still asleep, so I took this chance to go around and take pictures of his house. He had told me to make myself at home. Some of the spaces screamed of his personality while other spots seemed completely ignored. The living room, dining room, and kitchen were beautiful open spaces with two of the walls made up entirely of glass that had a view out onto the small but lovely pool, hot tub, and short waterfall. He had only a large brown couch in the living room that I could lay completely flat on in any direction, an end table, and a dining room table far off to one side by the windows. And, of course, the stools. But there was no art on the walls or decorations. Not even a throw pillow. I hadn't realized the night before.

His personal office seemed to be the space that was the most his. It was stuffed to the brim with shelves of books, video games, movies, toys, board games, and awards. It seemed like it never occurred to him to spread his stuff out. His Grammy was on his shelf like a bookend with another award I didn't recognize, holding up graphic novels. There were actually a couple of dozen various awards that I wasn't exactly sure of as well. I took just about a hundred pictures in that little space. To a degree, it reminded me of the bedroom of the wizard in the movie Howl's Moving Castle. But it was a comfortable space with a black leather couch, a coffee table, a television and desk with his huge computer set up as well as a space set up for filming.

The kitchen seemed to be almost totally empty with the exception of a cabinet with a few snacks and a fridge filled with beer and wine. There was a rarely used set of matching pots and pans, dishes and only the most basic cooking utensils. He seemed to survive entirely on delivery. There was a half-filled cardboard box with packets of sauce in one of the cabinets. I took a couple of pictures of the dozens of ketchup packets, mustards, duck sauces, soy sauces, and hot sauces just for me. I liked all the colors.

I took pictures of the outside of his house and the small front lawn that was made up of pebbles and lovely cacti. I took a dozen pictures of them, but they were for me too. I liked that he didn't have the typically grassy lawn. It was very California and modern looking.

I stopped though when I realized I was getting odd looks from a neighbor across the street through the gates as they walked their little yappy dog. I can't imagine a person less than an inch from a spiky cactus with a big fancy camera looked normal. Especially since I was clearly not totally caucasian in an all-white neighborhood.

For breakfast, I had leftovers from the night before all warmed up in the microwave. It was kind of a crazy mix of everything on a bed of mixed noodles and rice, topped with a splash of soy sauce. I mixed it all disgustingly together into a sloppy melody. It was delicious. I sat at his kitchen table, eating and editing pictures on my laptop. When I was done with my food, I washed my dish and wiped down the counters where I had spilled some rice. It was extremely quiet and peaceful in the space. Everything was so brightly lit.

Though my mornings had started on entirely different coasts, the serenity helped to bring down my anxiety about what was happening. And at least I didn't have the nightmare again about my camera. It was a pleasant way to start the day.

It was noon when Edward finally came out from his bedroom. He was freshly showered and was wearing khaki shorts and a tighter tee shirt again but had bare feet. His feet were massive, perhaps half as long as my entire arm. I wasn't about to get on the floor and measure though.

“Good morning. How did you sleep? Is the bed alright?” He asked brightly as he went to the fridge. He seemed to have so much energy, bouncing as he moved. I still kind of felt a little off inside.

"It's was very comfortable, thank you. I wish I could have slept more, frankly," I answered. He rummaged in it for a bit, making faces at his choices. I decided suddenly that I needed to be straight with him. "So, I'm going to be real honest. I've never done anything like this before, so I don't know what I'm supposed to do. I'm supposed to follow you around and capture your real life, yes, but I don't want to get in your way either."

“You won't be in the way. In fact, I wanted to talk to you about something.” He shook his head at his options and closed the door to the refrigerator with a thud.

“Oh?”

Edward came to sit beside me at the table, me at one corner and him on the other. “I was hoping you would like to be a guest in my videos this week.”

I was confused. “What do you mean?”

“You know how I like to have my friends in my videos? It's weird to reference my own work like you should know what I'm talking about. Have you actually watched anything of mine? I guess I should ask that first. It's okay if not,” he explained quickly, almost as if he was nervous.

“Not every single one but a lot of them. Like when you do a taste test or whatever?” I asked, a little surprised. Why would he want me in the videos as well?

He seemed pleased with my response. "Yes! Exactly. I've got three videos to film here today alone, and you could be in some of them. If you want to, of course."

“What if I'm terrible and boring?” I asked him before I realized what I was saying.

He made an annoyed face, confused. “How can you be terrible at trying new foods?”

I rolled my eyes. “Okay. Well...The boring part is more of the problem here. I've mastered eating. Mostly.”

Eddie smirked a little. "Don't worry about that. It's my job to be the entertainment. If you don't want to, I understand. It's not for everyone, but I love filming with new people."

I thought about it for a minute. Honestly, he always looked like he was having so much fun in his videos. It was just YouTube. I had done stupid stuff for an audience before many times before. I had been a dancer and into the theater at one point in my life, after all.

“Yeah, sure. Why not? But don't hesitate to kick me out if I'm bad though.”

Edward laughed and smiled brilliantly. “Seriously, don't worry about that. Alright, so... I need you to sign something. It's basically says that I have permission to use your likeness. It's so I don't get sued if I put a video up of you.”

I wasn't surprised, they had to do that in New York too for some things.

“Sure, but try not to make me look like a toolbag, please?” I asked, giving the paper a quick read before signing it. It was in really basic wording, thankfully. It was only a page long.

“The only person I make look like a fool in my videos is me,” Edward assured me. He pulled out yet another piece of paper. “Okay, so do you have PayPal?”

“Yes. Why?”

"I give everyone who's in my video a percentage. I give a standard amount to my friends... You know, of the ad revenue from my uploads. Or, endorsements or whatever implies. It's different for every video. Some make more than others. Some videos make nothing because they get demonetized for some stupid reason," he seemed nervous again, rushing through the words. "I do it through this program that divides it automatically, and it will send the money to your PayPal once you reach a certain amount. It can be one hundred, five hundred, one thousand, five thousand, or ten thousand. Which would you prefer?"

It was so much to take in at once.

“Oh, wow. Okay. Um... I guess one hundred? But, you don't have to give me any money. I'm going to get paid to be here,” I said in a tiny voice.

He quickly waved off my worries. “No, I do it with anyone who's in my videos. Everyone. I feel guilty otherwise. Here, just fill this out.” He passed me the paper, sliding it across the tabletop in my direction.

I didn't know how much money doing these videos would be if I ever saw a single cent from it at all. I kind of doubted it, honestly. I didn't think that's where he made most of his money if I had been reading correctly in the news over the past couple weeks. But, even if it was just an extra hundred someday, it was something.

I signed the paper. I.M. Swan

He seemed visibly relieved when I signed the paper. “So, I need to go to the store before we get started. I need to pick up a few things for the shoots. Let's stop for lunch before and then we can go to Target. There is one just up the street,” he said as he neatly stacked the newly signed and filled out forms. He tapped the two sheets on the table several times even though it was already straightened up.

"Whatever you want to do," I told him. "I'm just going to bring my camera along with me everywhere and take pictures of you whenever I can if that's alright? Please let me know if I'm starting to bother you or if you need me to leave you alone."

"Yeah, of course. I will, but you shouldn't worry about that. Bring your camera. It sounds like fun, I've never modeled at a Target before," he teased cutely with a big smile on his face. He then made the worst duck face. It was both stupid and cute.

“Have you modeled at a Walmart before?” I asked dryly.

He looked me dead in the eyes, “yes.”

I laughed at his unexpectedly serious and blunt answer. He smiled as he shook his head.

"I've not modeled before," he told me honestly. "I've done some photo shoots, but I feel very awkward in them. I actually try to avoid the press and all that. I make it part of my contracts as much as possible."

“Then why did you agree to this? I asked curiously.

Edward half shrugged. The way he looked up at me from under his lashes made me uncomfortably warm. “I got to pick my photographer.”

I blushed for some stupid reason and bit my lip as I considered what to say.

“But... I've never done this before. I just don't understand.”

He wasn't looking at me when he responded next, “I got to look at the portfolios of my options. I liked yours the best.”

I still didn't comprehend. “I've only ever done product pictures for the magazine. I know what's in my portfolio for them. It's not anything to write home about.”

He shook his head, glancing over at me briefly. “I saw your pictures online. The ones in your online gallery. The ones you sell yourself. They were so... vivid. Very pretty. I liked the colors. Everything you shoot seems to be so vibrant and full of life, even if I don't know what it is.”

“Thank you,” I said quietly, unsure what else to do or say. My face and chest felt like it was on fire. “That's very flattering,” I admitted, feeling too flustered.

He licked his bottom lip slowly. His voice changed a little, deepening a bit, “it's true. I am excited to see your work. I feel like you will be able to capture the enthusiasm and optimism I want to portray in my work.”

I thanked him again quietly, feeling nervous. How was I going to live up to that?

I retrieved my shoes and all my camera things from my room. He seemed like a chipper person, smiling as he opened the door to his car for me. It was a nicer car, big and silver. I didn't know anything about cars, but this one seemed like a new one with all the gadgets. It wasn't overly flashy though. It was some sort of hybrid as well. I'm not sure I could have even told you a brand with three guesses.

We went to a diner down the road from his home in between his housing area and the shopping center that held the store. The menu selection was small compared to the NYC diners I was used to, but it seemed pretty standard otherwise. I ordered a burger with curly fries and some unsweetened ice tea while he ordered a big breakfast sampler plate.

All the decor was black and white checkered with bright red booths. The restaurant was mostly empty with no one sitting directly behind us. I took his picture as he looked out the window, the sun only lighting up one side of his face. When he noticed he looked down and smiled, brushing his hair away from his forehead with the flat of his palm. The shot was perfect. I took ten more pictures quickly in a row. All of them were stunning.

“Are you sure you've never modeled before?” I asked as I showed him one of the pictures I had just taken. They were literally all good. It was a rarity.

“Nope, not even in a Walmart,” he teased me.

“I guess it comes naturally when you're this pretty.” I motioned my hand over him with a smirk.

“You must be an amazing model then,” he replied slickly. His smile was only a little flirty. I was unimpressed.

“Aren't you smooth?” I shook my head and added sugar to my tea. Just a packet and a squeeze of lemon. The tea wasn't too bitter. I licked my fingers of the juice when I was done.

He seemed to not be bothered. “You seem unaffected so not that smooth, obviously.”

I rested my chin on my knuckles, stirring my tea with my straw.

“With an opening that wide?”

“Yeah, it was,” he agreed playfully, amused. “I'm sorry. I'll try harder next time.”

“Why don't you just try relaxing and being yourself?” I asked him. He seemed to be almost acting for me. I liked how he was at the house more when he was being quiet and almost shy.

"What if I'm boring and terrible?" He was turning my words from earlier back on me. Edward's face was so soft, and he seemed so young and innocent at that moment. I wasn't sure if he was or if it was an act or not. I swallowed a drink to give myself some time.

“There is a reason your videos have been viewed billions of times,” I stated simply.

He laughed without mirth, “that means literally nothing. Terrible and boring things do amazingly on YouTube. I don't understand why people watch me. I don't. I just make videos that are fun for me to make and... It's all a mask, really. One I'm good at putting on, but it's a routine. That’s all.”

“So... none of that is you in your videos? In them you seem so genuine and witty. Funny, too. What a shame. Is there some writer I should actually be speaking to?” I asked him dryly. He smirked, shaking his head. “You don't have to act humble. It's okay. I've seen the news. I’ve done my googling.”

“Do you think I'm funny?” Edward was folding and unfolding his paper napkin subconsciously.

I folded my hands on the table, feeling nervous but also feeling the need to be honest with him. “You're hilarious. I wish you weren't so self-deprecating sometimes, but I get it. It's an easy laugh. It's a thing right now. It's just not my style.”

“I should probably work on that,” he admitted thoughtfully.
“What do I know? You probably shouldn't listen to me. I'm nobody.”

“I don't think that's true. Besides, my therapist would agree with you,” he joked.

After our conversation, I tried to pay my part of the small bill, but he refused. We weren't in his home, I tried to say, but he wouldn't hear it. I left the cash as an extra tip to the waitress instead. He had left her same amount as the tab itself I realized as I put the money on the little black tray with the receipt. His handwriting on the paper was so neat.

"I don't do it every meal," he explained when I asked him about it, "but if it's under a certain amount, I always do it."

“What's the amount? Your tipping point on tipping,” I questioned in curiosity.

“Eh, fifty usually. Then I go on a case by case basis.”

“That's a lot,” I said in soft surprise.

“Not really,” he replied.

I shook my head. “No. Fifty is a power bill. Or, a week of groceries. A credit card bill. It's a lot for most of us. It's a lot to me, at least. And to a waitress probably, too.”

He was thoughtful and quiet as he considered my reply.

“Well, I just hope it makes someone's day better then, I guess.”

Target was quiet since it was an early Monday afternoon. Edward pulled out a cart to use. I followed him around, feeling rather awkward. Like a kid shopping with a parent early in a school day. I felt very out of place.

“So, what do you need?” I questioned.

Edward was quick with his answer, “well... I've been getting lots of requests for Little Debbie snack cake ranking videos, so lots of those. Whatever we find here.”

“Sounds... diabetic coma-inducing,” I deadpanned.

“Right,” he laughed. “I am also doing a video ranking Pringles flavors.”

“Yum. More diabetus. I used to eat those a lot when I was a kid. They were my grandmother's favorite,” I told him with a slight smile as I remembered that red can she would hide in her bedside table when I was a younger child.

“What's your favorite flavor?” He said conversationally.

“I don't know if I've ever had anything other than the originals, to be honest. I haven't eaten them in a while,” I admitted.

“Oh, well that will make the video more fun because I've not had them ever either. Or, the Little Debbies.”

“I've probably eaten all of those,” I confessed. “They're some my favorites, sadly. You'll have to do a video with some of the other brands someday if this goes well. Drake's cakes. Hostess. What else is there? Tastykakes?”

Edward glanced over at me curiously, interested in what I was actually talking about. “I've never seen Drake's cakes. I've seen the Hostess ones. Those seem to be everywhere.”

I think he liked how seriously I was taking his videos. I was also obviously giving him ideas, too.

“I think Drakes is New Englander thing. I'm not sure. Maybe you can order some? They're really good though,” I explained. I could practically see them in my mind's eye in my little corner bodega at the corner of my apartment building.

"I'll have to look into that." He pulled out his phone and quickly typed something into it before putting it away again. "My food videos always do really well, and they're so easy to film. I can knock out a few a day sometimes. I love them so much."

“Are all the videos you're doing today going to be food related?” I asked.

“No, I'm doing an unboxing video, which is also stupid easy and just stupid. I don't understand the appeal of them but also, something else that does really well.” He seemed confused by all of it. I agreed with him with a small nod.

“What are you unboxing?”

"A limited edition version of a game I'm in. Not the one that's just coming out but one that came out last year. It's a game of the year edition with all the DLC, and it comes with swag."

“Death... Calling?” I struggled to remember his IMDB page.

“Yeah! I play the annoying robot companion,” he smiled widely. “Plexie. It's probably my favorite game I've been in so far, gameplay wise. I platinumed it twice now.”

“What about Red Ops 3?” I asked about the game that was coming out later that month. That’s was why he was jumping out of a plane, to promote the game.

“It's a shooter... A shooter is a shooter, is a shooter,” he shrugged, a little bored. “Nobody is playing it for the story though. It's fun, don't get me wrong. I guess I shouldn't tell you this.” He looked a bit bashful.

“I won't tell anyone your secret,” I promised.

“Thanks,” he chuckled, embarrassed a little. “I'm not bad mouthing the game, I suppose. It's just...” he trailed off.

“It's just a game,” I replied. “I understand.”

“And, a good paycheck.”

“Will you be in the sequel?” I asked conversationally. Every game seemed to have a sequel.

“Mm, I hope so. If there is one.”

“Do you enjoy voice acting?” I asked softly.

"Honestly, it's what I've always wanted to be. Even as a little kid. I'd do stupid voices all the time and drive my mum up the wall. Even when I was in uni and getting a degree, I knew I'd never use it. I was just getting it to make my parents happy."

“What did you get a degree in?”

He made a face. “Business and marketing.”

“Well, I don't think that's a waste of a degree. I've got a wasted degree. You're still obviously using those skills,” I told him. “When did you start doing YouTube? Before college?”

“Way before. I started doing it when I was still in school. Sixteen, I suppose. But by the time I had finished my first year at university I was able to support myself fully with my videos. I got my first voice acting role right before I graduated. That was almost four years ago now.”

I laughed a little bit uncomfortable. “Christ, that makes me feel old. What are you? Twenty-five or six?”

“Twenty four. My birthday is in November.”

“Ugh...” I drew out in annoyance, making him laugh. “You're still a baby!”

“How old are you? You can't be that much older than me, surely! I thought you were my age.”

“Aw, honey, that is so sweet, even if you're a filthy liar,” I said in a syrupy southern accent. “I'm thirty-three.”

“Really?!” He said in shock. “Oh, that sounded bad. I mean, you don't look over thirty at all. You are very baby-faced. I would have never have guessed.”

“It's not the face. It's the height,” I told him. “Being part dwarf knocks ten years off, apparently.”

Edward laughed again, “you're not a dwarf. I'd say you're more halfling.”

I stopped in the middle of the aisle we were walking in and turned to look at him. “Did you just make a Dungeons and Dragons reference?”

He held his head up high. “Yes. Yes, I did.”

“Nerd,” I deadpanned.

He laughed as we walked together again. I was enjoying talking to him. I was hardly paying attention to the stuff on the shelves. “Did you play?”

I was almost a little embarrassed to admit it.

“Yeah. And Vampire the Masquerade. Like decades ago though.”

“Nerd,” he replied back dryly, making me smile.

“Not to change the subject, but do you have a coffee machine?” I asked as we walked past the bags of coffee. I always loved the smell of the coffee aisle. It was the only reason I had noticed where we were.

"I have one of those pod machines." I made a little face, and he noticed right away. "I don't like it that much either."

“Do you have a drip machine or a french press?”

“No?”

“Oh,” I considered my options. I was definitely going to need coffee during the trip. I was probably addicted and would go into withdrawals soon. “Do you like coffee?” I asked him.

“Yes,” he said quickly, “but I'm not very good at making it. I don't know what to buy either, to be honest. And the coffee shops are different than at home. Frankly, it's all pretty terrible here.”

“Would you mind if I got the stuff to make coffee at your place?”

Edward tilted his head slightly to the side. “Why would I mind that?”

"I don't know. It's loud. It'll take up space. I'll have to leave it or throw it away when I go," I explained. "If not I can just get me some strong tea, but I like coffee a lot better. And as much as I drink it would still be cheaper to buy the machine than going to Starbucks or whatever every day."

"I have a kettle if you want tea, but I don't have a lot of things for my kitchen." He seemed properly embarrassed by this fact.

“I've noticed.”

He waffled his head from side to side. “Well, you'll have to leave it my house anyway so why don't I buy it? I just haven't known what to buy. I need it anyway. You know?”

“Oh...Um...” I drew out. “It's pretty easy. You just have to decide what level of lazy you want to be. It's not a huge difference. But, it does affect the quality of the coffee.”

“I'd like a really good cup of coffee. It's my favorite in the morning... or mid-afternoon, usually. And it's been ages since I've had one,” he explained. “Australian coffee is in another league.”

“Do you like it strong?” I questioned.

“Very. American's is weak, bitter, shit.”

"K," I mumbled as I grabbed a bag of my favorite whole beans. It was a bit more expensive, but it was much better in terms of flavor. "We'll need sugar. Creamer or milk, too."

When we went to the dairy section, I picked out a sweet creamer and Edward got a more interesting chocolate hazelnut, along with a half gallon of milk. After we got sugar and some salt we went to the kitchen aisle completely across the store. I picked out a coffee grinder and a simple, cheap french press. Edward picked a couple of simple white wide mugs as I did. They probably could fit three cups worth of coffee in them. They would have made better soup bowls. I grabbed a normal sized one for me.

“And, you know how to use all of this?” He asked, unsure as he looked at the boxes I had selected.

I couldn't help but smirk. “Yup. I promise I do.”

I stopped to admire a dress as we walked through the store towards the checkout. It was a short sleeveless dress that was made of lovely cotton. It was black with red embroidered roses on it. The high neck was lacy, and it had black and red tulle around the bottom of the skirt to fluff it up some. And, it was an extra small, too. Just my size. It was so tempting.

“That's cute,” Edward chimed in from beside me. I hadn't realized he was watching me.

“I like the flowers,” I agreed. “I like roses.”

“Why don't you get it?”

"I don't have any reason to get it, and I shouldn't spend the money," I told him truthfully. "Remember, fifty is a lot to me?"

Edward flipped over the price tag and made a little face when he read it. It had a clearance tag on it.

“It's seven dollars.”

“Oh, that's not bad,” I commented, biting my lip as I considered buying it. I really didn't have a reason to purchase it, and I couldn't wear it in New York until probably April without freezing my tits off. But, it was so damn cute.

“Is this your size?” He asked. I nodded slowly, still thinking about it. I knew I probably wasn't going to get it. Edward tossed into the cart.

“Wait-” I said to him as he had begun to walk off.

“Nah. Consider it your reward for coming with me on a boring errand run,” he said as he began rolling away towards the cashier. “And for showing me how to use this shit.” He pointed to the coffee stuff in the cart.

"I'm getting paid to do that, and you bought me lunch anyway," I argued. "And, I'll drink the coffee, too."

“You're not getting paid to pick up Zebra Cakes and Cosmic Brownies with me. It's just seven dollars. It's cool.”

“It makes me feel weird,” I told him honestly.

“Why?” He seemed genuinely surprised.

"I don't know. It just does. Coffee is one thing. But, you don't have to feel like you need to pay for all these things. I know you have the money, but as I said, I'm getting paid. I don't know how others are with you, but I don't want to use you. I have the cash."

Edward was so quick with his response, “well, obviously not enough if you can't impulse buy a pretty seven dollar dress.”

I honestly couldn't argue that with him. I did like the dress though even if his comment stung a little. It wasn't much. “Thank you,” I finally said, trying not to be an asshole.

“Yeah, of course. You're very welcome,” he replied nonchalantly as he tossed a couple of candy bars onto the conveyor belt.

When we were walking outside to the car, we were ambushed by a couple of short little boys who were standing by a table covered in boxes of cereal bars and bags of oranges. They had deeply tanned skin and wild short black hair that stuck up in uncontrollable spikes around their heads. There were only two front teeth between them, one apiece.

“¡Hola!” They shouted at me, one of them jumping up and down as he did. They automatically assumed I spoke Spanish. I got it a lot with my appearance. I was ready for them though. “¿Quiere comprar algo para ayudarnos ir al school trip?”

“¿Un viaje de escuela?¿A dónde van?” I asked in my best kid-friendly voice. I wasn't as fast as them when I spoke.

“Disneyland!” They said in unison.

“Wow!” I exclaimed at their happiness. They couldn't have been more than seven or eight years old. They were precious in their matching yellow school shirts. “A ver, ¿qué tienen?”

“Barras de granola,” one answered me.

“Y naranjas,” the other chimed in. I walked over to the table where the mom was sitting with the granola bars and bags of fruit they had for sale. “Son de nuestro tree,” he said excitedly as he realized that they were probably about to make a sale. I liked their Spanglish. It was adorable.

“¿Cuánto cuesta?”

“Cinco,” the mom pointed the granola bars and then to the oranges, “tres.”

I pulled out my wallet and looked at my flavor options. They had chocolate chip, peanut butter, and dried fruit. I took out a ten and a five dollar bill. It was the smallest bills I had. “Una de chocolate y una bolsa de naranjas, por favor.”

The boys eagerly handed me what I asked for, and I traded it for the cash which they quickly handed off to their mom. “¡Disfruta el viaje!" I told them in my Sunday school teacher voice. It had been a while since I had used it last.

“¿Quiere su cambio?” The mother asked as she pulled a wad of one dollar bills out of the box on the table. They had already done very well. They were very cute.

“No,” I shook my head. “Diviértense.”

Edward had quietly watched the whole exchange. I put the bars and the bag of oranges into the budgie. “I don't speak Spanish,” he finally said as we made it into the parking lot. I laughed at the abruptness of it.

“I took Spanish in sixth through twelfth grade. I was even treasurer of the Spanish club in high school,” I told him. “It's helpful in Texas, where I grew up. And, in New York, too.”

“Here, too,” he spoke thoughtfully. “I took German in school.”

“Can you still speak it?” I asked.

“Guten Nachmittag, Fräulein.” He tipped an imaginary hat at me. I smirked. I knew two of the three words and probably could have guessed the one I didn't know for sure with three tries.

“Gesundheit,” I deadpanned.

“Har Har,” he teased as he put the things in the trunk of his car. “Lustige dame.”

“What does that mean? Stupid woman?” I asked with a laugh.

He chuckled, “no. Funny woman. I think.”

“So, close then,” I said as he opened the car door for me.

“I don't think you're stupid at all. I think you're lovely. You made those boys very happy. It's funny, you didn't give it a single thought about handing them the extra money but wouldn't buy a seven dollar dress for yourself. I just feel bad that I didn't have any cash for them.”

“They need to go to Disney more than I need a dress,” I countered. “Anyway, you did something nice for me. I can pay it forward. It's not that much. Besides, I needed something for breakfast. I can't just drink the free coffee.”