Confusion washes over me. “My food?”
“Well, yes, and your pairings, which are brilliant by the way.” He smiles broadly. “Now, it’s more about the woman behind it all.”
I stare at him, stunned by his blunt proclamation. My mind whirls about why I’m here tonight. “It still doesn’t explain why you wouldn’t have said anything on the plane.”
“At first, I didn’t want to make you self-conscious.” He smiles cautiously. “I was fan-boying because you’re brilliant. Then, it was like something washed over usand we’d known each other for years. I feel stupid for not fessing up.”
His words strike somewhere deep. No comment by a critic or article in a food blog has ever felt so important.
“Well, if you’ve been to the restaurant, you must understand why I’m so burned out.” I let out a deep breath and try to reset my expectations for the evening. As far as I can tell, he wants to be friends. Nothing more. “I’ve gone for many years without a break. My parents and sister forced me to go on vacation. I didn’t want to, but they mean well. I forgot how much I love being here.”
“You sound grateful.”
“I am. Mostly,” I acknowledge, possibly for the first time. “Admittedly, it was nice for someone to make a decision for me. It’s not often I have such a luxury.”
His gaze softens, thoughtful. “I can work with that.”
“Work with what?” I laugh. “Are you gonna plan my vacation now?”
“Maybe. If you’ll let me.” Santiago reaches over and takes my hand.
Well, then.
“I’m not great at letting people I don’t know takeover.”
He leans closer. “Try it. You might surprise yourself.”
The air between us pulls taut, every sound around us thins until it’s merely low music and our uneven breathing.
A server appears, breaking the spell for a beat, refilling our glasses. When she slips away, Santiago’s gaze returns to mine, steady, curious, too intimate for a public room.
He traces the rim of his glass. “Tell me something. What keeps you going at such a pace?”
“Creating something perfect for strangers. Watching them close their eyes when the flavor lands. It’s usually the only time my head goes quiet.” I take a sip of the wine. “It’s the only time I stop thinking.”
“You deserve to stop thinking more often for more pleasurable reasons.” Santiago’s accent is like warm chocolate.
“God, tell me how,” I mutter and then flush from head to toe, realizing what he means.
Holy shit. Heisinterested in me.
The question is, can I handle him?
Santiago’s eyes darken. “You make a decision to let go. One night at a time.”
“Oh, yeah?” My stomach flips and my words come out a bit sarcastically. “Starting now, I suppose. With you?”
He tilts his head, eyes boring into mine. “Absolutely. If you want to.”
God, Ido.
More than I should. I’m not sure how, though. It’s not in my nature.
Perhaps sensing my discomfort, he eases back. We finish the wine and our conversation shifts away from innuendo and invitation.
Just like we did on the flight, he and I discuss everything and nothing effortlessly. Every now and then our fingers graze and each time, the air thickens a little more. When the staff starts placing chairs on top of tables, he signals for the check and slides his card to the server before I can offer to pay my share.
Outside, the street glows copper under the lamps. I start to thank him for a wonderful evening, but he steps close enough for me to feel his breath. “Let’s not let tonight end here.”
