You groaned as you watched Dean shudder, for the umpteenth time, after tasting the last option the caterer had sat down in front of you.
“What? It’s gross!”
“It’s insulting!” You risked a glance at the chef who was standing in the corner, watching and waiting for a verdict on his food, and you lowered your voice even more.
“You can’t just spit stuff out, even if you don’t like it.”
“That’s stupid,” he gruffed, pushing his plate away from himself.
“That’s being polite.”
“And why, again, can’t we just have burgers for the damn thing?” He asked you.
You scrubbed a hand through your hair at the question. He had asked this after the first tasting, and you had refused him, saying that it wasn’t the place for burgers, but now? Maybe it was time to reconsider.
“Burgers,” you started, and you closed your eyes and pressed your lips together before continuing, not believing you were actually going to say this, “burgers might actually be a good idea after all.”