The long, long, long line of people waiting was honestly a bit intimidating, but thankfully, making hot dogs wasn't too complicated. The line moved at a decent pace—satisfying enough, though it still took a full thirty minutes before it was finally Ronan's group's turn.
Ronan eagerly ordered four different flavors, then turned to Oli and Alice with a grin. "What about you guys?"
Oli took a half-second to catch up. "Wait, those four aren't for all of us? I thought you were eating two…"
"What kind of nonsense is that! All four are mine!" Ronan's eyes widened as if Oli had just said something completely absurd. He shot Oli a look that screamed, How could you bear to see me eat just two? "Two wouldn't even be close to enough! This isn't some kitten's dinner. Who do you think you're shortchanging here?"
Oli scratched the back of his head, feeling vaguely insulted but unsure why. Seeing Ronan's dramatic expression, he quickly backpedaled. "Four, four, you eat four. I'll just take one plain one, and for Alice…"
Ronan leaned in toward Alice, who was busy filming with the camera. She stepped back half a pace, annoyed. "You're in the shot."
Ronan didn't care. He popped back into frame with a grin. "I recommend the barbecue sauce one—it's got this special shrimp paste and pickled cucumbers." He gave his earnest suggestion, and after Alice gave a quick nod of approval, he turned back to finish the rest of the order.
Sizzle, sizzle, sizzle.
The smoky aroma filled the air as fresh juices dripped from the meat onto the scorching hot grill, then splashed onto the glowing red coals below. The sound was delightful, and the rich, meaty scent hit hard, wafting up in plumes of steam. It turned the humble little food cart into something that felt straight out of a Michelin three-star restaurant. Stomachs started growling, saliva pooling in protest.
Even Alice, who hadn't been hungry at all, could feel the greedy little worms in her belly waking up.
Finally, after what felt like forever, the hot dogs were ready. The three of them carefully carried their prizes to a wooden picnic table nearby and sat down—Ronan and Oli on one side, Alice on the other.
Ronan solemnly picked up one of his hot dogs, inspecting it with the utmost seriousness. He studied its ingredients, its appearance, its aroma—like he was about to taste some high-end gourmet dish. He evaluated it from every angle, color and scent, while Oli had already wolfed down half of his. Only then did Ronan take his first bite.
Pop.
The juicy burst exploded in his mouth, filling it completely. The texture was springy yet refined, not at all tough or dense despite being packed with meat. Instead, it felt like the hearty chunks were dancing between his teeth. The sauce didn't overpower the hot dog's natural flavor—it enhanced it, layering salty, savory, and sweet notes that bloomed across his taste buds like a field of flowers.
No wonder!
It totally lived up to the hype!
The only downside was that the sauce was a tad too salty, throwing off the balance a bit. But Ronan knew that was just how New Orleans food worked. Over the past three days, everything had been like this—they sprinkled salt like it was free. For the first time, he started questioning the stereotype of food being "heavy on oil and salt."
Wasn't this way saltier than cuisine?
Still, he had to admit, the saltiness was appetizing. As long as it didn't steal the show, it kept you coming back for more. Pair it with a bowl of rice, and it'd be perfect.
Ronan couldn't help but close his eyes, savoring every chew. Then he sensed someone nearby and cracked an eye open—only to see Cliff standing there.
It'd only been an hour since they last saw him, but Cliff seemed calmer now. His bloodshot eyes and the dark circles drooping beneath them didn't look great, though.
That was understandable. None of them had slept properly in the last fifty-six hours, and they'd all been through an emotional rollercoaster. Ronan and Oli included, they weren't in much better shape than Cliff. They all looked about as lively as the zombies wandering around nearby.
You could say this was a "Walking Dead" set, and the extras were just grabbing breakfast.
But the storm had passed. Cliff's vibe had settled—almost too much, like he was holding something back. His gaze drifted, avoiding Ronan and Oli's eyes. To anyone watching, he seemed kind of pitiful and lonely, like a little stray dog shivering in the rain. It made you hesitate to blame him.
Oli, though, had no such hesitation. He glared at Cliff, eyes wide with anger, silently cussing him out. Didn't you give up already? So why the hell are you back?
Cliff squirmed like he was sitting on pins.
He tried to explain, but then realized he didn't know what to say or where to start. Defeated, he hung his head under Oli's burning stare.
Oli huffed and turned away. If he kept looking at Cliff's face, he wasn't sure he could stop himself from throwing a punch.
"How'd you know we were here?" Ronan broke the silence first. Oli shot him an irritated glance, practically jumping out of his seat. He kept throwing Ronan desperate looks, scolding him silently—Why are you even talking to that guy?
Ronan met Oli's eyes and flashed a small smile, calming him down a bit with a look.
Oli slumped his shoulders, still annoyed but holding back from tearing into Cliff. Instead, he took out his frustration on his hot dog, chomping down like he was biting into someone's flesh. It was just a hot dog, but he made it sound like he was gnawing on sugarcane.
Ronan glanced at the hot dog in front of him, hesitating. It pained him, but he pushed one over to Cliff. Right now, the situation called for it—easing the tension in the band mattered more than food. Otherwise, watching Cliff and Oli go at each other would ruin the taste of even the best meal. "Eat something."
Cliff tilted his head toward Ronan. He almost refused, but remembering how much Ronan cared about food, he swallowed the words. Quietly, he picked up the hot dog. "I went back to the motel and didn't see you guys. Asked the front desk, and since you'd asked about this hot dog stand, I came over." His explanation was simple.
Ronan's focus, though, was on Cliff's hot dog. He's actually eating it! Seriously! Shouldn't he at least politely turn it down?
But then again, Ronan had offered it himself, so he couldn't exactly complain. Letting it go took some effort, but he managed to tear his eyes away from the hot dog. He shot Cliff a hard glare—
Cliff, totally oblivious, didn't even notice. It was like winking at a blind man. Ronan gave up, turning his attention back to his own hot dog and digging in with full focus.