Page 27 of My Best Friend's Dad

I hesitate in front of the ordering screens. I have no idea if Rowleigh is more of ameat-and-cheese-onlyor afully-loaded, extra-everythingman.

But nothing greasy because his belly is probably churning with all sorts of nasty acids. I can’t go even a few hours before my stomach starts eating itself and crawling up my throat. If that were me, I would have had to drag myself along the pavement just to get here.

I wondered if there was anything that would be inherently worse than my car breaking down after getting cheated on by my ex on my birthday. Well, yeah, that would be it.

“Hey! Can I help you?” A perky blond teenager pops up from behind the counter like a spring-loaded toy. She looks like she actually loves her life.

“I…yes, please. Can I get something with meat, cheese, lettuce, and mayo? And a few toppings on the side? Maybe pickles and olives?”

“Sure. Is there anything you don’t like?” She snags a pair of plastic gloves and slips them on.

“I don’t know.”

She doesn’t lose her smile or her patience. “My parents own this place,” she admits. “Everything is good.”

“Okay. I’ll have theeverything is good. That sounds excellent.”

She laughs, grabs a huge bun with cheese baked into it, and assembles me a wonder sandwich. Ham, turkey, roast beef, cheddar, lettuce that doesn’t look like it’s going to kill you, and a swipe of mayo all come together to create a perfect-looking beast that practically makes my mouth jet saliva.

As I said, a few hours. It’s now well past that point, and I’m starved.

“I’ll have another one of those, but with cucumbers, pickles, olives, peppers, pineapple, and banana peppers.”

“Sounds great.”

A few of those are questionable toppings, but if she thinks so, she doesn’t show it. She probably makes hundreds of sandwiches a day. She has to get at least a few strange orders.

She whips the second sandwich up just as fast and places them both in a big paper bag with the sides and a few little plastic cups.

“You don’t have tea, do you?” I ask.

“Cold tea?”

“Hot? Mint or…uh…anything?”

“We have mint. Hold on, I’ll check the back.”

I appreciate her extra effort. Even if the place was packed, I think she’d still go and check for me. I peel a ten-dollar bill out of my wallet and stuff it into the tips jar by the debit machine before she gets back.

She returns with a massive paper cup. “I double-cupped it and put a sleeve on it so it doesn’t burn you, but it’s still crazy hot. Be careful.”

“Thank you, I will.”

She rings me up quickly. I give her too much money and tell her to keep the change. She waves me out, looking utterly adorable, her happiness infectious. If I was sixteen and my parents made me work at the family business, I don’t think I would have been that happy. Then again…maybe. Maybe she has great parents who don’t—

Ugh, cutting that off. I don’t want to go there.

The bright side of this whole thing is that the rain has turned into a fine drizzle, and the sun is peeking out between the wall of flat grey clouds. Double bright side? These sandwiches look great, and being so hungry, they’ll probably taste even better. Maybe even better than tacos. It’s notfall in love with your life so hard that you don’t need to get fake marriedmaterial, but it’s something, and I’ll take that as a small win.

Chapter seven

Rowleigh

Idon’t know what’s more humiliating. The fact that I feel like I just got stampeded over by a horde of angry squirrels, and some of them dragged their nuts on my face—the edible kind and the not-so-edible kind—or the whole tucking into this sandwich like a ravenous beast with no care for etiquette whatsoever.

It didn’t even matter that by the time she got back here in the drizzle, the brown paper bag was soggy, and the sandwiches were slightly moist.

Yes, moist.