They ate lunch at the food court. Not at some white-tablecloth restaurant Evalyne would have on speed dial. At a burger place that smelled like nostalgia and health-code violations.
Jack bit into a double cheeseburger and nearly moaned. The taste was vulgar. Grease. Salt. Melted American cheese. Juice dripping down his fingers.
Manny's "maintenance plan" had banned this kind of thing. Too many carbs. Too much risk of "softening the lines." Jack had broken diet exactly once in four years, sneaking fries in the back alley on his twentieth birthday. He'd done three extra hours on the treadmill to atone.
Now, no one was watching his waistline. No one was counting his macros. No one would fine him for smelling like a fry shack.
He ate the whole thing. And fries. And a milkshake.
"Good?" As
