She’d never been one for fancy food. Caviar? Nope. Escargo? Puhlease! You could call it a simple palate; you could call it a lack of education in the ways of culinary masterpieces. But whatever you call it, just make sure that dinner is recognizable, please. A simple cheeseburger would do, just cheese, mayo and ketchup, no need for all the fuss of lettuce, the excessiveness of a tomato. Simple, that’s the kind of person she’d always been.
Maybe that’s why they’d always gotten along.
His tastes were similar. He didn’t need chairs, a table, or a nice cloth to cover it, he was fine with a picnic bench, a strategically placed ledge on the side of a wall. Hell, even a curb would do just fine. He’d always been a staunch supporter of the idea that it wasn’t where you ate, but who you ate with. He was always one to appreciate a good conversation, not a nice setting.
He could be anywhere in the world, eating anything in the world, but as long as he was with her, he didn’t mind.
Tantalizing smells wafted around them as the sat and peeled back the foil from their dinners—the flowers in the garden, the distinct scent of spring, and the faint, lingering stench of garbage. The park was quiet, but just outside its borders the sounds of the city could be heard. Cars idling, horns blaring, people shouting, and the timbre of pedestrians’ feet as they shuffled to and from their jobs and shopping malls.
They ate quietly, both watching that small cart with its squeaky wheels and yellow-red umbrella as it rolled away down the lane.
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