9
Pitt
“I don’t know how you eat that stuff.” I shoveled a forkful of potato into my mouth.
She looked at her salad and shrugged. “It tastes good.”
“Come on, that stuff doesn’t have any flavor at all.” I pointed to the bottle of ranch dressing that sat on the table near her. “That’s what you taste right there. You like that ranch dressing, not the lettuce.”
She stabbed a piece of lettuce that had no dressing at all. “Nope, I like the lettuce plain, too. See?”
She took the bite, and I wrinkled my nose as I thought about the flavor—or lack thereof. “Gross.”
“Yum,” she closed her eyes and moaned as if she really liked the stuff.
She sat with her back to the deck, so she couldn’t see what I saw outside—lightning in the distance. A storm seemed to be heading our way. If it started raini
