“Hi? That’s it?” the waitress said, her voice tinged with disdain.

“Emily, c’mon. Can we order?” Tyler said, impatient.

Emily pulled out her pad and pen, her lips pursed.

“The waffles,” Tyler said.

“Peanut butter and whip with warm maple?” she asked.

“Yep,” Tyler said.

Emily looked to me.

“Oh, uh … I’ll have two eggs, over medium, and bacon. Burned.”

“Burned?” Emily asked.

“Crispy fried.”

She shook her head. “I’ll tell the cook. Anything else?”

“That’s it,” I said. Emily walked away, and I leaned against the table. “She’s going to spit in my food.”

“Do you know her?” Tyler asked.

“No. I’m not sure if she hates me because of something she thinks I did to Paige, or because I’m with you.”

“Maybe both. Girls are weird that way.”

“Oh my fuck, Tyler. Could you be more of a misogynist?”

“Am I wrong?”

“About what? I’m not even sure I know what you meant.”

“But you knew enough to be offended.”

“I hate you today.”

“I can tell,” he said. “I would say you need a drink, but…”

“No. My luck, we’d get called to a political fire, and I’d be puking my guts out.”

Tyler smiled at the jargon. A political fire was anything big enough to make CNN, something everyone was dispatched to, and the only reason I would ever know that was by living with the twenty-man crew who would be sent to one.

“I didn’t realize you knew that term,” Tyler said.

“I sort of have to pay attention for my job.”

“You’re really good at it, Ellie. I’m glad Jojo gave you a raise, but I saw on the Internet the other day that they’re paying photographers six figures a year to shoot pics of national forests.”

“Really?”

“I was looking into National Geographic, too. That seems a little harder to get into, but not impossible.”

I arched an eyebrow. “You trying to get rid of me, hotshot?”

“No fucking way. Not even a little bit.”

We looked at each other for a moment in a silent exchange. We had an understanding that I needed, and Tyler was satisfied with whatever it was that we were doing. Part of me wanted to thank him for not pushing, but that would defeat the purpose of our rule to avoid labels, or really to even discuss the nature of our relationship—if it could even be called that.

Emily returned with our plates, interrupting our little staring contest. “Waffles. Eggs,” she said, turning around before Tyler could ask for a refill.

“Okay, then. Not sure what you did to Paige, but her cousin is pissed about it.”

“I honestly don’t know this time.”

“Weren’t you two, uh…”

“No. As a matter of fact, I was very clear. Many times.”

“Many times, huh?”

“Shut up.”