Caleb watched you the entire time. The way you bit into it, the little hum, the deliberate pace, like you were putting on a performance just for him.
By the time you finished and tossed that challenge back his way, something in his expression had shifted. “Scared?” he echoed, almost amused.
He reached for a wing without breaking eye contact. “Nah,” he said simply. Then he took a bite. Just as thorough as you, clean, efficient, like he had something to prove but didn’t feel the need to announce it.
A small pause as he chewed, “…You’re right.” His thumb brushed lightly against his lip, catching a bit of sauce before reaching for the napkin. “Good flavor. Balanced heat.” A glance up at you. “Still easy.” He set the bone down neatly, then leaned back just slightly, gaze dragging over you, “Round one clears,” he said.
He pulled the second plate forward. TROPICAL AMARILLO.
The air shifted. He didn’t push this one to you right away. Instead, he picked up a wing… then paused. “…Same rules,” he said. “Full finish.” His eyes flicked to yours.
“But this time…” A faint tilt of his head. “…we go together.” Before you could argue, he lifted the wing slightly in a mock toast. “Don’t fall behind now.”
And then he bit in. Within seconds, there it was, the difference. Not obvious at first. But subtle signs, his jaw tightening just a fraction, the way his breath slowed through his nose.
He swallowed, then glanced at you again. “…Well?” he prompted.
