Who You Say I Am (A Jai Courtney Fanfic)

Chapter 56-Jai

Jai

I can't stop grinning as we're sitting in her tiny car. She won't talk about it but I know she writes Divergent fanfics. I'm curious to read those. I shift a little and bump her arm.
"Sorry, I kind of feel like Brian Shaw in your car," I tell her.
She laughs, "I'm sorry. Maybe I could ask my mom if we could switch while you're visiting."
"I was thinking of renting a car while I'm here," I tell her.
"Oh," she says surprised. "If you want to..."
"Where's the closest agency?" I ask.
"Probably at the airport," she replies.
"No way. Some of them were half an hour commute," I insist trying to pull the search up on my phone.
"The local airport is probably twenty minutes away. I'm surprised we didn't hear the Air Force running drills. It can be loud at the park sometimes. It's not clear out today, though, so that might be why," she explains.
"There's an airport nearby?" I question surprised. "Why don't you fly there?"
She grins, "Because the hour drive from Detroit is faster than a changeover. There's not many direct flights either. But the private planes can be fast. That's probably why Spencer got down there so quickly."
"So it's a tiny airport with an Air Force base?" I inquire nodding.
"Yeah," she says pausing. "I'm sorry. I didn't ask where you wanted to go. I was just thinking of a place downtown."
"That's fine," I tell her.  I don't mind.
We pull into what looks to be a seafood themed restaurant in the tiniest CBD I've ever seen. We walk in and are seated right away. It actually has a lot of seating and is fairly crowded. I see a few people notice me. We're taken to a corner booth. I slide in on one side and ask Megan to join me on the same side.
"Okay?" she says questioningly. "Why?"
"Because I have something to tell you," I grin.
"What's that? Is it a secret?" she asks sliding in.
We're handed our menus. "This is a decent looking menu," I say surprised. I wasn't expecting much with the nautical themed tchotchkes. "What would you get?"
"I already know what I'm getting. You should at least get a cup of the white chicken chili. It's good," she says. I look to her waiting. "I'm getting the fried lake perch and shrimp. I just need to decide if I want chips or fries. By the way, do you say chips for French fries like the British?"
"Hot chips," I reply grinning.
"So what do you call chips?" she asks.
"Chips," I say.
"Not crisps?" she questions. I shake my head. "What would you call these chips? They're fresh made so they're hot."
I start laughing at that. "You've got me. I have no idea. We've reached a potato conundrum."
She smiles at me, "So... the menu, everything is good that I've had. Mikey loves their BLT. It's like a grilled sandwich—tasty but kind of greasy. Their lobster mac and cheese is good but you said no seafood... their burgers are good. My dad usually gets one. By the way, the portions here are ridiculously huge. Oh, I forgot they have onion rings, too. My dad likes those."
"Is there Mexican on this menu, too?" I ask.
"Yeah, they have a tacos but we've never ordered them," she says. "What are you getting?"
"I'm thinking these sangers sound good. This one is sick. It's got ham, turkey, roast beef, and corned beef," I say.
"I've never seen that one before. I'll have to tell my dad if it's good," she comments.
We order and the waitress takes our menus.
"So what secrets were you going to tell me?" she whispers.
"I was just going to narrate the room," I grin.
"What?" she asks laughing lightly and leaning closer.
"That table over there," I motion the the far one whispering. "They keep looking over here. They're thinking... he looks familiar. Is he that bloke in that film? No, why would he be here? Are you sure? He looks just like him. But he's Australian. Was he Australian?"
She's laughing. "I thought you didn't mind the attention," she says.
"I don't," I reply. "I dislike being interrupted especially at meals but I usually don't mind any other time."
"So, what's the plan for today?" she asks. "Car rental and hotel?"
"We could do that," I nod. "What else is there to do?"
"I honestly don't know," she shrugs. "Shopping, movies... I can't think of anything else. Wait... there's a rock climbing place indoors. It's new. I've heard people talking about it."
She gets out her phone and looks it up. I put my arm around her peering closer. "Oh, man.  That's in a bad part of town," she says.
"I'll protect you," I tell her.
"Are you bulletproof?" she teases. "Oh, we could go to the gun range."
"I've never shot a gun," I tell her.
"What?" she laughs. "Mr Dauntless leader never shot a real gun, just a prop?"
"Many of my movies used gun props," I point out quietly nudging her. "You've shot a gun?"
"I have," she nods. "There's a place in town that has an indoor archery range, too."
"You really are Katniss, aren't you?" I ask pushing her hair aside.
"I've been into archery for a long time. If it was hunting season, we could take you out," she says.
"Have you ever shot anything?" I ask surprised.
"Deer," she shrugs.
"This is what Ohioans do?" I question surprised.
She nods.
"So... rock climbing, shooting... what else do you want to do?" I ask.
"You want to come with me on Monday and visit my Popi?" she asks.
"Hmm?" I hum a confused reply.
"My grandpa," she clarifies.
"Your dad was talking about him," I tell her.
"He has dementia. He's in assisted living for now. My dad visits him several times a week. We all try to visit him often," she tells me.
"Alright," I nod.
"It's supposed to warm up later in the week. We could go trail running. My dad never goes. I'm sure the shoes he has are still in the box," she suggests.
"Running? Outside in the snow?" I question raising an eyebrow.
"It's going to be above freezing for a couple days. It should mostly melt. We could walk around the river, too. We've got the hockey game, I could take you downtown to a restaurant. They will approach you and have you sign one of their tchotchkes, though, and take your picture," she says.
"How do you know this?" I ask.
"Because their walls are covered with signatures," she tells me.
"Like who?" I inquire.
"Everyone," she shrugs. "I think there's like a whole room of presidents' signatures and presidential candidates... any celebrity coming through town stops there."
"So, world famous?" I question.
"Oh, yeah," she nods.
"Is it that good?" I inquire.
"You'll like it," she insists.
"What kind of restaurant is it?" I ask.
"Hot dogs," she says plainly.
"All of the presidents came by for their hot dogs?" I question disbelievingly.
"It'll change your life," she teases.
I can't help but laugh at that.