“Aren’t these to-die for?” I say as I pop one in my mouth, and she does the same.
“I have never eaten fries these good. Honestly, I’ve never eatenanyform of carbohydrate this good. And this little aioli dipping sauce?” She groans, her eyes rolling into the back of her head, “I would like to dive into a barrel of this and eat my way out.”
I huff out a surprised laugh, something warm punching my ribs at the glimpse of humor I didn’t expect from her—and dammit if it doesn’t match mine. “I’m demolishing these like they owe me money.”
“Same,” she chuckles, the sound soothing something that’s been wounded inside for so long. “I’m a total foodie. Traveling as much as I do, I love finding new restaurants and sampling dishes I’ve never tried before. My favorites are the hidden dives only the locals know about. They always have the best food.”
“Bet. I follow a strict diet routine when we’re in season to help with rest and recovery—it’s a whole boring thing—but when it’s a cheat day,” I glance around the dining room, “I’d never pick a place like this. Don’t get me wrong, the food here is great, but…I’m more of a casual guy. There are some awesome diners in Milwaukee I love to sneak into. That’s one of the things I miss the most from Montreal…the diners. Tim Hortons. The poutines. Why those aren’t popular in Wisconsin with the clear abundance of cheese curds, I’ll never know.”
Her smile looks nearly impressed. “Right? Why aren’t they a thing there?”
“Over the summers, I used to eat at this one diner in Montreal every day. Same order, same poutine.Fuck,it was good. They have over forty different types, but I just like the OG version best. Just potatoes, curds, and gravy,” I say as I pop a few more fries in my mouth. “Then I started dating someone who only liked fancy places like these, even for just a quick lunch. She was kind of controlling and said it wasn’t a good look to eat there, so I never made it back. They probably thought I died. Ishould have…” I suck in a deep breath, looking down as I try to steady my shaking hand, pressing it into the table. I may have just made a big mistake letting my guard down.
I have no idea why I’m even telling her any of this.
My stomach churns. I don’t like reliving that part of my life. I must have let my feelings slip through onto my sleeve somehow because a warm hand now rests on top of mine.
“Hey. I know we don’t know each other well, but whoever that girl was, she didn’t deserve you.” Her gaze locks with mine for just a moment. One fleeting, glorious moment. “You have to give me the name of that place for the next time I’m in Montreal. But I have to be honest, I’m not sure they can beat these fries or frites or whatever the hell you want to call them. Someone would need to pry these out of my cold, dead hands to make me stop eating them. I’m making these frites my bitch,” she says, pulling her hand away from mine, the chill of its absence sinking in immediately. But I see she’s only moving away to attack the plate of food once more as she takes several fries, dips them in the sauce, and devours them in a perfect mirror of my actions just a few minutes ago. I grin at the accuracy of her frites monologue, dangerously on point and endearing. And then my eyes lock in on the cutest little drop of aioli on her lip. She must notice me staring, because she immediately asks me, “What?”
“You have, um…you have aioli on your face.” I gesture toward my own lip, showing her where it is.
“Oh my God,” she gasps, eyes wide as she grabs her napkin and wipes her mouth. “Did I get it?”
I try my best not to smile, but I can’t hold it back. “Not quite. May I?”
She nods, and I lean across the table. Cupping her chin, I delicately run my thumb across the bottom of her lip, my touch lingering a little longer than it should. Her gaze locks with mine. For just a moment, time seems frozen. My skin grazes the lipsI’ve wanted to kiss for so long. My pulse races, wondering what it would feel like to be touching her like this cradled together in my sheets.
My heart can’t reconcile that this isn’t real. I blink, the spell broken. Time hasn’t stopped. We are in a restaurant full of people on a very fake date. But for a fleeting moment, it looked like she might have seen beyond the mask I wear day in and day out. Past the one screaming rich, playboy, troublemaker, and getting a tiny view of the hopeless romantic buried deep inside me. If only this moment could last forever. But just like every second on a clock, it ticks by, time marching mercilessly on, and I pull back to my side of the table.
“Got it.”
“Thanks,” she says with a shy smile, shifting to quickly take a sip of her drink.
I can’t help but notice the blush in her cheeks. The way her eyes dart to avoid my gaze.
That moment didn’t last forever. But something shifted. That door between us cracked open just a bit more. And I’m going to do whatever I can to never let it fully shut again.
26
kennedy
We stand side by side at the glass doors of the restaurant, watching the storm unfold before us. It’s not only the literal storm outside, but a blinding swell of people with cameras and cellphones and those weird mini mics.Holy shit.I was expecting one, maybe two people, but there aredozensof media personnel. All of them standing around in raincoats with umbrellas covering their hungry cameras, some already snapping pictures of us through the water-covered windows.Is this normal for him?I edge closer to my date before I realize what I’m doing.How does he deal with this every day?
This night has already proved to be nothing like I expected. I can still feel the flush on my cheeks from his thumb dragging along my lip, which was ungodly hot. No.No.Maybe they poured my gin and tonic too strong.Yeah. That has to be it.I sneak a glance at him. It can’t be because a very handsome, a very well-dressed, way-too-young-for-me man with thighs that could crack open a safe dabbed a bit of aioli from my face. And it most certainly couldnotbe the urge I had to lick it off his thumb. It was clearly because the aioli was so delicious, I hated it going to waste.Yep. That’s all that was.
“Hey,” he whispers, a breath away from my ear, pulling me from my thoughts. The thoughts I shouldnotbe having. “You ready for this?”
I swallow the lump in my throat.What the hell am I doing?“How does one even prepare for this? These people are standing in a torrential downpour just for achanceto get a photo of us walking to the car.”
“If you’ve changed your mind, I can make a call, and we can slip out the back door. They’ve seen us through the windows. It’s okay if you’re not comforta?—”
“No,” I say, forcing down the anxiety clawing at my chest. “I agreed to this. I’m good.”
“You sure? I’m serious; if you don’t want to do this?—”
“I’m good. We made this deal for both of our sakes, and I’m here to hold up my end of the bargain. So, grab my hand and let’s make a run for it in the rain to the car and pray I don’t slip and fall in these heels.”
He flashes me a warm smile, his gaze locking on mine. As if he’s memorized exactly where my hand rests at my side, he reaches for it—and the way his fingers curl around mine feels like he wants nothing more than to keep me safe. My eyes burn.I don’t need saving. I’m the one in command in every area of my life. I’m the one who decides what I do when. So, can someone in the universe please explain why this feeling of someone looking out for me is strangely comforting?
