Page 48 of Last Slice of Pie

People all around me start packing up and moving, but I can’t stop staring at Bryan down on the field. To any regular outsider, he looks happy—they did just win—but I can see he’s not in the way his shoulders are pulled back, the stiffness in the way he walks.

He did not play well today, and I know tonight I’m about to experience a different Bryan.

Earlier in the week, on the show NFL Insider, there was a thirty-minute discussion about Bryan, how his playing has changed over the season, and how that might impact the team in the postseason. It wasn’t favorable, and in many ways it’s like they were doubting his ability to lead his team to the Super Bowl, which is complete and utter nonsense in my opinion. No one is as prepared to lead that team as he is.

He asked me if I watched it, I asked him if I should, and he very adamantly told me no. Secretly I already had, but I didn’t want to upset him more, so I let it go. He didn’t mention it again, but I know it’s impacted him. He hates the media as it is, so them all of a sudden questioning his abilities when he’s committed his life to his team and to being the best he can be—I know it’s rattled him.

Then, to make matters worse, others picked up on the discussion, and it’s taken off like wildfire. Speculation is rampant, and all they can hang their hat on is that his playing is distracted and it’s because of me. Me. They’re calling it the Jarvie jinx. I’ll admit it’s catchy, but not in a good way. Even I’m not immune to how it’s affecting me emotionally, and at this point, my biggest fear is that it will somehow resonate with him and I’ll be out. He’s always made it known that nothing distracts him when it comes to the game, and if he thinks I am, then what?

Not surprisingly, because it comes with the territory of being with someone in the spotlight, my business email has been flooded with hate mail from fans. Marie is horrified and worried about my safety, but I’ve assured her that’s ridiculous and this will all blow over in a few weeks.

At least I hope it will.

I even asked him if I should stay home today, and he told me I was being ridiculous and he wasn’t going to give their speculations or unwarranted opinions any weight. Now, though, I wish I had. I have a feeling things are going to get worse for him, and I know they’ll use my presence here today against him.

“You okay?” I ask him as we make our way out of the stadium. He’s holding my hand, but it feels distant. I know he’s processing, but I hate it. Just like last game I came to, he rode in with Jack, so I’m driving us home.

“No, but I will be,” he says after we’re settled in the car. He props his elbow up on the door, runs his hand along the back of his neck, and stares out the window as we slowly begin to crawl along with postgame traffic.

I don’t offer words of encouragement or try to force positive vibes on him; that’s not what he needs, so I just let him be and turn on the radio, keeping the volume low.

Ten minutes later, out of nowhere, he turns to face me and asks, “How would you feel about going on a date?”

A date. The words roll around in my head like they’re foreign. I can’t remember the last time I went on a date.

“Really?” I look at him like he’s lost his mind. For one, I thought his moodiness would last longer, and two, doesn’t he worry about being recognized?

He shrugs his shoulders and then shifts to take off his suit coat and toss it into the back.

“I’m starving.” He runs his hand through his hair, arching his back to stretch, and I can’t help but admire the way his button-down dress shirt pulls across his chest and arms. Then he runs his palms across his thighs and stills while waiting for my answer.

“Okay,” I say, almost shyly. “I’d love to go on a date with you.”

We’ve never been on one, and the fact that he just asked me on one means he realizes this too. Tiny wings flutter inside me as he gives me a lopsided smile and directs me to turn left.

“A couple of years ago, a few of us represented the team and attended The Taste of Tampa over at the Straz Center. That’s where I met Mara and Franco, owners of La Casa Della Pasta. They moved here from Italy and opened their restaurant in north Tampa. It’s hidden, quaint, the food is delicious, and she’s an expert on wine. Sound good?”

“You had me at pasta.”

He chuckles, letting out a deep, long-overdue sigh, and then reaches over to place his hand on my leg. He squeezes once and leaves it to rest there, and my insides relax with delight.

Once we get through the postgame traffic, it takes us fifteen minutes to get there. He wasn’t kidding about the restaurant being quaint and cute, and as we pull up outside, I find myself smiling. I love that he’s found something authentic, mom and pop. It reminds me of OBA, Meg’s restaurant in Charleston.

Bryan hops out of the car as I reach around for my bag. I wore black jeans with black ballet flats to the game, so all I do is slip his jersey off and pull on a green long-sleeved shirt. When I’m ready, he opens my door and takes my hand to help me out.

As we walk up to the front door, he stops me just before we go inside, wraps his hands around my face, and leans down to give me the sweetest kiss on the planet.

“What was that for?” I ask him. He just shrugs. Happiness has replaced the frustration on his face from earlier, and he opens the door.

He was right about this restaurant. The owners greeted us like longtime friends and seated us in the corner by the window, out of the direct sight of other guests. The first food item to hit the table are aged gouda and thyme shortbread cookies, and I am in love. With every course, my mouth waters, and at one point I laugh to myself thinking Bryan might have to carry me out. I am in fresh-homemade-pasta bliss.

“Tell me more about Shelby and Meg,” Bryan says, leaning back in his chair and letting out a full stomach sigh. “I know you met them in culinary school—what was that like?”

“Culinary school was amazing. You know—well, maybe you don’t, but I haven’t traveled a lot, so experiencing a new city was terrifying and exciting at the same time. I did love every minute of it and am so thankful for meeting both of them.”

“The three legs of the tripod.” Bryan chuckles.

“Yes. It’s such a small world too that my life with them has ended up overlapping with my life with y’all. Who would have guessed Shelby and Zach would end up working together like they did?”