“Sir?” the snack cart man says. “Coffee?” 
The man next to me gives the snack cart vendor a distracted look and then a sharp nod. He holds up his finger to indicate he’d like one large coffee.
Well. He’s not very friendly, is he?
But he is getting coffee…
My stomach gives a tight hungry clench. I make my decision, because honestly, hunger is a great motivator. Plus, it’s fate.

“Devon, anything else?” I ask. I’ve decided that the man next to me is named Devon. He looks like a Devon.
Clearly, he doesn’t answer, because he’s on the phone, ignoring everyone but the crazy-in-love lady on the other end.
I turn back to the snack cart man and smile apologetically. “He’s on the phone with his sister, she’s causing him all sorts of trouble. You see, my husband and I are on our honeymoon and all we wanted was a little time to ourselves. But family…” I shrug. “You know how it is.”
“What does he want then?” asks the man impatiently. There are gobs of people waiting for snacks in the rows ahead of us. 
I tilt my head and study the menu pasted to the side of the cart. I lick my lips. “He’ll have that coffee with cream and sugar. A ham and cheese croissant. A chocolate chip muffin. And, hmmm a bag of salt and vinegar chips.”
The snack vendor grunts and starts pulling out the food. I horde it, gathering it on my lap. 
“Anything for you?” 
I nod, my eyes going glassy from the food smells wafting up to me. “I’ll have a blueberry muffin. An apple. Another ham and cheese croissant. And a large coffee, no cream, but lots of sugar.” 
My stomach twists again and I lick my lips. 
I set the food in my lap, and then pull out the tray to put the coffee on. It’s steaming and smells so good that I almost start crying again.
The vendor uses an old blocky calculator to ring up the total. 
“Twenty-six dollars,” he says. 
I look at the vendor, then I look at Devon, then back at the vendor and shrug. 
“Please. You can’t possibly get married Sunday. Fine. Bye. I’ll see you—” Devon sighs and clutches his head for a second then he turns to the vendor. It looks like his phone conversation is done. “How much?” he asks.
“Twenty-six dollars.”
Devon’s eyebrows scrunch down and he scowls at the vendor. “For a large? How much do you charge for a small?” 
The large-nosed vendor rolls his eyes. “The coffees are four dollars. The croissants ten. The muffins eight. The apple-”
“I don’t want all that, I just want coffee.”
“Your wife ordered for you,” the vendor says. 
“What wife? I don’t have a wife.” Devon looks a little confused and a whole lot offended. 
I give the vendor a sweet smile. “It’s a game we play. Being newlyweds. Devon thinks it’s funny.” 
Devon gives me an appalled look, and I think he’s only just realized that I’m in the seat next to him. “Excuse me? We’re not married.”
I look back at the vendor. “See?” I open my eyes wide and flutter my lashes. “Come on Devon, don’t be that way.” 
I didn’t think it was possible, but Devon becomes even more stiff-backed and starched looking.
The vendor sighs, clearly at the end of his patience. “Come on, Devon. Buy your wife the food. Twenty-six bucks.”
“We’re not married,” he says, then something else dawns on him. “And my name’s not Devon!” 
I roll my eyes. I think the vendor’s starting to get angry.
“I don’t care what your name is. I just want you to pay for the food your wife ordered.”
“She’s not—”
An exceptionally tall man a few rows up from us stands up and shouts over the seat, “Hey, funny guy, pay for your wife’s food so we can get our coffee.”
“Exactly! Thank you!” an old battle-ax of a grandma adds. 
Devon’s cheeks turn bright red and I can see the war taking place inside him. Make a scene and fight the injustice of the crazy lady next to him, or pay the bill and avoid the scene. I smile sweetly when he pulls out his leather wallet and stiffly counts out thirty dollars.
“Keep the change,” he says, shoulders stiff.
“Thanks, Devon. Enjoy your honeymoon,” says the vendor. He shoves his cart down the aisle to serve the next row of passengers.
I sit still, relishing the weight of the food in my lap. Yum. Food.
Devon lets out a low growl. He’s mad. Really, really steaming mad. In fact, I can feel the heat rolling off him. His eyes are sort of like those laser beams that sear your skin. 
I hold out one of the warm foil-wrapped croissants. The crinkly noise the foil makes has my heart doing a happy dance.
“It’s ham and cheese. I hope you’re not a vegetarian. Or a vegan, you’re not a vegan, right? No, you wouldn’t be, your shoes are leather.”
I drop the croissant into his hand and say, “Enjoy!”
He gives me an incredulous look. “What’s wrong with you?” 
Lots. Lots and lots. But while I’m with Devon, I’m not going to think about it.
I take a big bite of my croissant. Oh holy heaven, the cheese is all melty and gooey and the croissant is so buttery. A soft little moan escapes. 
His eyes flick to my mouth and I lick a crumb from my lips. So good. It’s so good. Devon seems sort of stunned. 
“Don’t you like ham and cheese? I got you a chocolate chip muffin too, or you can have my apple if you want? But really, you should try this croissant. It’s like heaven in your mouth.” 
He shakes his head and stares at me with morbid fascination. “Are you insane?” 
“Hmm?” I take another bite, yup, still amazingly delicious, and then I swallow some of the steaming coffee. 
“Are you insane? Or a scam artist? What?”
I frown. “Devon, please. I didn’t mean anything by—”
He throws up his hands. “For crying out loud, my name isn’t Devon. It’s Nathaniel. Nathaniel Barry.” 
I smile widely and hold out my free hand for him to shake. “Izzy Harris, I’m so pleased to meet you.”