IR Day 20 - Part 3

Florida sucks and Tampa isn’t great, but at least it’s enough of a city that you can kiss Ingrid in public. You don’t do that, of course. It would make her uncomfortable and with your luck, someone looking for culture war points would hassle you.

Starbucks isn’t a uniquely American experience, but it’s a quintessential one. You bring your orders to the table where Ingrid is waiting: decadent coffees and even more decadent scones. As you sit beside her, you glimpse what she’s doing on her phone: texting. Big texts. Lots of words in Swedish. You could be fooled into thinking that Ingrid is quiet and shy, but that’s probably not true. She’s probably a chatterbox and just can’t. It’s like there’s a whole side of her that you don’t get to know about because of the language barrier. And all your dabbling in Swedish has taught you is that it’s incredible that she can speak English as well as she does.

She puts her phone down as you arrive, and the morning’s exertions have left you both with an appetite. She people watches through the window contentedly. Today’s a bit overcast, so the beach is probably out. Still, there’s enough to do in Tampa to keep her entertained. Then you’ll have to get back to the Lodge. The Sunday blues aren’t as bad as they used to be: FUTA has relaxed the schedule on Monday mornings to accommodate a healthy amount of sleep with a little buffer for hangovers.

Everything is a little bit different than what Ingrid is used to: getting massages, shopping for gifts to send home, and getting your nails and eyebrows done. Ingrid seems particularly impressed with the nail salon, which you chose purely on its reviews. Gurlberg only has one place to get nails done and it’s not great, but your mom and her friends all go there, so you and Kayla do as well. You don’t really want to show that place to Ingrid.

The look on Ingrid’s face as she’s getting a sumptuous pedicure is almost insulting; a little more and she’ll look nearly orgasmic. There’s an extra spring in her step after that. She inexplicably buys a Miami Heat ball cap and insists on wearing it, so you have to help with a hair tie so she can do that. She doesn’t realize that you’re not a Heat fan; you’re pretty sure that you had sex once while you were wearing your Johnathan Isaac jersey at some point, but Ingrid probably wasn’t focused on your nightshirt at the time.

Later, you come out of a bathroom and see her standing there with her phone, a boba, her shopping bags, and wearing that stupid cap. At a glance, it doesn’t look as though there’s anywhere that she’d rather be.