Strangely Perfect

57. You Speak English Not American

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F I F T Y S E V E N:

"I'm so sorry about this," he walked back to me with a sheepish look on his face.

We had been waiting for a table for almost twenty minutes, and still had no luck. He even went as far as bribing the host but it didn't work.

"It's fine, I think we were a little under-dressed for this place anyways." I looked around at the other people there and registered the way they looked at the clothes I wore.

"This was not what I planned."

"It's okay, Tate." I smiled. "Why don't we just go McDonald's instead?"

"Really?" He arched a brow. "You'd like that?"

"Who doesn't?" I grabbed his hand, "come on let's go."

The McDonald's in Archview was right next to an abandoned children's activity playground that I remember was used as a form of a school trip when I was younger. No one bothered with it for a while now.

Tate parked his car next to the activity ground and we got out, taking a seat on top of the table there with our food. It was already dark, thanks to winter, and I looked up to the squint at the stars which was difficult seeing as the street lamps really stole the show for me.

I shivered a little at the cold and my lack of common sense to bring a form of jacket or cardigan.

"Here." Tate placed down his burger on the table and shrugged off his leather jacket, placing it on my shoulders.

"This is such a movie moment." I pulled the jacket over my shoulders more, inviting the warmth it brought. "Thanks."

"My pleasure. Wouldn't want you getting a cold."

"Won't you?"

"Nah, I'm too hot for that."

"Cocky."

"Truth."

I giggled at him, pushing my shoulder against his.

"Want some chips?" He held out his portion of fries.

"What?" I pulled a face. "You brought chips? Where?"

"No, chips." He shook his fries. "Right, forgot you Americans called it... french fries or something."

"You call fries chips?" I queried. "Why?" I was so astonished at this.

"Why do you call your chips fries?" He shot back.

"Touché." I popped a fry into my mouth. "So what do you call chips?"

"Crisps."

"What?" I laughed.

"Crisps." He repeated.

"You're so British right now."

"I am British, darling."

"I am bri-tish darling!" I mocked. "How was that?"

"Was that you trying to do my accent?" His blue eyes widened slightly.

"Yeah, your ac-cent!" I nodded enthusiastically. "That's so cute, how you say accent." I pointed a fry at him and took a bite out of it. "How's this... good 'aye mate! Fancy a cuppa?" I moved my head side to side for extra effect and Tate burst out in laughter, warming my belly.

Could a laugh be so hot? And sound so British?

"I think the first bit was Australian." He wheezed, coming back from his laugh. "Do you not watch Doctor Who? It's British."