After I finish devouring a few more pieces of bread soaked in this blissful oil, I point out something. “You know, you could make big money if you took your food truck into bigger cities during the winters. Why do you stay here?”
He smirks. “I already make big money.”
Given how well appointed this place is and the fees he charges, I smile. “Fair enough.”
Then there’s the main dish.
“Heaven.” The cod about melts in my mouth, and I fear I’m going to melt along with it. “This is incredible. Did you toss in some fresh oregano when I wasn’t looking?”
“I did. Points to you for noticing.”
As he eats from his own dish, he avoids eye contact. “You know, I looked you up and found your Instagram and your other social media. At first, I hadn’t understood the massive following you had, but you do great stuff. The way you love your community? The smaller places that cook up the best food? You’ve got a very unique take. Thank you for tagging me. My Instagram truck page already has so many new followers. It’s sort of fun,” he begrudgingly admits. “I don’t really understand what to do now. With posts. What to share.”
“Yeah, I can tell,” I say with a teasing laugh as I soak up some sauce with the fresh bread. “I can help with that if you want. Just wait until I actually go to your truck and eat all the things and post all the things. This is what I love to do. Share the places I love. Food I love, people I love.”
“People you love?” Dave asks cutely.
Oh crap. That was a Freudian slip.
After I get my heartbeat to slow, I ask if this bread is his own recipe.
“I wish. Wildgrain. They ship out the best loaves that are par-baked or something. Wish I could bake. Baking, especially bread, is a very exact science that I don’t get.”
“God, this is so good.” I keep dunking my bread and ask him about his gorgeous rental when I finally pass over my empty plate. “I also checked you out. I mean, online,” I say with a blush. “And I know you make a killing on rent here. Especially now. Peak season and all. So, why won’t you take my money?”
Dave is now doing dishes and making an unnecessary racket. Not something I’ve seen before. Maybe I shouldn’t have asked him. Or maybe he didn’t hear me.
When he finishes and he’s wiping down the stove, he counters with a small smile, “Why do you think?”
After I cannot come up with an answer and he can see that I’m truly at a loss, he flings the dishrag into the sink, a bit exasperated. “Diana, this place was booked for weeks. And I canceled the reservations I had.”
I shake my head. “Why?”
“For you.”
“But why?” I ask again, truly confused. “You didn’t know about my wrist or my horrid cat. Or Patrick.”
“I figured you’d texted me for a reason. You obviously needed something more important than to just get out of Boston.” He pauses. “I knew it wasn’t a random urge to see me, but I hoped I could help in some way.”
It takes me forever to answer, yet he doesn’t run.
“And maybe I wanted to see you again too,” I say. “I just didn’t want to say so when I was this goddamn messy. I don’t like being needy and vulnerable. I rarely am. This is all new to me.”
“Your messy doesn’t scare me.” He starts to dry dishes now. “We all have messy.”
“Stay here tonight. With me,” I say. Under the half-moon and the smell of the salt air, I confess, “I know about a thousand people in Boston. But no one makes me feel protected. Noplacemakes me feel protected. Until now. Until you. And here. This town and home that you’ve shown me. So, I want whatever your messy is too. You’ve got to have something. I want to know more.”
“Maybe.” He slams his trunk shut. “And maybe I want to stay here tonight. Like, I really want to. But not like this.”
“Not with me all nutty and emotionally shredded?”
“You are neither of those things.” Dave slowly and clearly reluctantly steps into his car and revs his engine with his door open. “It’s hard to leave when you’re this crazy beautiful, but also when you’re so, so sad. It’s going to kill me to drive away right now, but I just want you to be clearheaded when we’re together again. If we are. But, God, I hope we are.” His wink about drops me to my knees as he slams his door shut.
He’s pissing me off, but he’s also right about us.
Before he takes off, he rolls down his window. “Maybe trade in that silly luxury SUV you have. You’ll be stuck in crap in a heartbeat,” he calls out. “Oh? And stay as long as you’d like, okay?”
Why is he concerned about my being here during bad weather?I wonder as he peels away.
