Page 72 of Clinically Delicious
After the Ferris wheel, we did bumper cars.
Megan drove like a tiny maniac, ramming into everything with gleeful abandon.
I drove defensively, trying not to hit anyone.
Gabriel drove like he were performing surgery—precise, controlled, strategic.
And then he rammed directly into my car.
“Hey!” I yelped.
He smiled. Actually smiled. “You left yourself open.”
“This isn’t a competition!”
“Everything’s a competition.”
He rammed me again.
“Oh, you’re going down, Dr. Lyon.”
I spent the next three minutes chasing him around the arena, trying to get revenge, while Megan laughed hysterically and crashed into both of us repeatedly. It was chaotic and ridiculous, and I was laughing so hard I could barely steer.
When the ride ended, I was breathless and grinning.
Gabriel was watching me with that expression again.
“What?” I asked.
“Nothing,” he said. “You’re just... different when you laugh.”
What does that mean? What does that MEAN?
“Different good or different bad?”
“Different good.”
Oh.
Oh no.
We got food next, because I’d been eyeing the funnel cake stand for the past hour and was approximately thirty seconds away from abandoning all dignity and just buying one myself.
“Can we get cotton candy?” Megan asked.
“After you eat something with nutritional value,” Gabriel said.
“Funnel cake has nutritional value,” I said.
He looked at me. “It’s fried dough covered in powdered sugar.”
“Exactly. Carbs and dairy. Very balanced.”
“That’s not how nutrition works.”
“You’re a pediatric surgeon, not a nutritionist.”
“I’m a doctor. I understand basic dietary principles.”
