“I’ll have that!” I handed him my menu and turned to see Jack smirking at me, his eyes twinkling.
“What?” I asked.
“You,” he answered.
“What about me?”
“It’s just cute how excited you are about an ice cream cake. You’re like my niece at her birthday party.”
“Ugh. It’s not just an ice cream cake,” I said, witheringly. “Did you not even listen to the description?”
“I heard cake and ice cream. How is that better than pie and ice cream?”
“Hello, isn’t it obvious? Chocolate ganache.” There was no refuting that argument. Chocolate wins every time.
“Well, we can agree to disagree till our desserts come. Then the proof is in the bite swap.”
“Swap? That was never part of the negotiation, Jack.”
“Well, obviously we have to swap, otherwise how will we be able to decide who’s the winner?”
“Clearly I’ll be the winner, because I’ll have chocolate, raspberry ice cream, and Chambord,” I said, looking directly at him. “And I won’t be sharing.”
To my left I heard chuckling and saw that Scott was watching our interplay with amusement. I turned to him and asked, “What did you order, Scott?”
His lips curling up at the corners he said, “Brownie, a la mode,” then gave a small, apologetic shrug to Jack.
“I knew you were a man of excellent taste, Scott. Chocolate and ice cream for the win.”
Scott turned and started polling the rest of the group about their dessert choices. We were tallying up the results (chocolate was the overwhelming winner) when our desserts were served.
I surveyed the rest of the desserts. Megan had what looked like a mini chocolate volcano and PBD had some sort of giant brandy snifter filled with orange sherbet and topped with fruit and booze. Their end of the table was getting louder and louder and snorts of laughter punctuated their conversations. It looked like everyone was having a good time.
I smiled as our desserts were set down. Admittedly, Jack’s pie did look good, with a golden flaky crust, oozing apple pie filling, and with a generous scoop of vanilla ice cream. But my dessert looked better.
Before I could take a bite, Jack pushed his towards me. “You can take the first bite. And you can even use your cootie-free fork.”
As I went to stab a bite of his apple pie, I saw him attempt a stealth attack on my torte. I held my fork menacingly and growled, “Don’t even think about it.” He gave me a contrite look with full-on puppy dog eyes. Damn his sexy eyes.
I took a bite of his pie and chewed it slowly and thoughtfully, savoring. “It is good. A nice light, flaky crust. A good crust to filling ratio. The filling is a good consistency; thickened, but not gloopy. It’s a solid win. For an apple pie.” I pushed the pie back toward him and pulled my own dessert toward me.
I carefully cut a piece that included ice cream and ganache and put it into my mouth. The contrast of flavors and textures was sublime, silky, smooth chocolate with the chill of ice cream and the sweet spike of the liqueur. I knew Jack was watching my reaction carefully, so I leaned towards him and said in a low voice, “You know the diner scene from When Harry Met Sally?” He nodded. “This is what she was eating.”
He laughed and said, grinning, “I’d like to see you recreate that scene, Eve.” Furiously blushing, I turned back to my plate and scooped up another bite.
“I hardly think that’s work appropriate, Jack.”
Gesturing towards the other end of the table which seemed to have started a drinking game, he said, “I hardly think this qualifies as work.”
Scott leaned over and interrupted our bickering. “How did you two meet?”
Jack, having swiftly polished off his pie, rested his arm on the back of my chair and said with a charming smile, “We bumped into each other while traveling and have been together ever since.” Literally.
“That’s great. You two seem really good together. My wife and I met while we were working at the same spa, and we just celebrated our twenty-fourth anniversary. I wish the same for you guys.” Scott picked up his drink and Jack clinked his beer bottle against it.
Meanwhile, I was frozen. Where had all this talk about anniversaries come from? Jack and I had only known each other two days. Less than two days. And most likely that was all we’d ever have. Tomorrow I’d fly home and return to work. He’d go off to his pop star palace in the clouds and we’d never see each other again. I’d hear his songs playing and I’d smile, remembering the time we’d met. He might even stay at a Duvier hotel and maybe think fondly of me. But there was no twenty-fourth anniversary in our future.
Jack caught my eye and gave me a puzzled tilt of the head. Of course, he couldn’t read my mind and know that I was prematurely mourning the end of our time together. To avert his questions, I scooped up the last bite of my torte and offered it to him. Surprised, he took my fork and looked consideringly at it.
