“I got you some food,” he says, nodding to the back seat. Reaching behind me, my hand closes on the white plastic to-go bag. Inside is a cheeseburger with everything except onions and an order of sweet potato fries. “Thank you,” I whisper. We pull away while I grab the burger, taking a huge bite. He’s quiet while I eat, and I’m finding it hard to swallow past the lump in my throat. It’s the food that got me. And that he knew I liked sweet potato fries more than regular ones. And that I hate onions unless they’re cooked. The thoughtfulness of it has been so rare in my world.
