EVELYN DE LUCA
“Do you think burgers and fries are cursed for me?” I asked Xavier, popping another fry into my mouth. The salty crunch didn’t quite distract me from the unease settled in my chest.
Xavier shot me a unsure glance before returning his focus to the road. “Why do you think so?” His brows knitted together, forming that familiar cute frown of his.
“The first time we got burgers and fries, we were attacked,” I mused matter-of-factly. His jaw tightened, his hands gripping the wheel a little harder at the reminder. “The second time, we ended up in prison. And now? Who knows what’s waiting for us.” I shrugged, finishing the last bite of my burger. It tasted fine, but my stomach twisted with suspicion.
He hummed in response, his mind clearly elsewhere. His gaze flicked to the rearview mirror, then back to the road.
When we had reached the café, Xavier’s phone buzzed with a call from Dad.