I stuck my tongue out and reached for a knife, but he’d already neatly chopped up the bell peppers and onion, which were sizzling in the frying pan. He even had the baby spinach washed and spread out on a dish towel. With an expert flourish, he slid the steaks into the pan and almost instantly my mouth began to water at the delicious smell of butter and beef.
To be helpful, I put the spinach in a bowl, and found the plates and silverware to set the table. “Dining area or kitchen?” I asked.
“Guest’s choice,” he said.
The separate dining area had a big oval table under a stained glass chandelier, but the kitchen had a cute little nook with a cozy booth where we might brush elbows again. Did I suddenly revert back to middle school? It seemed so because I lit the candle sitting in the middle of the bar and placed it on the cozy kitchen table.
“This will be easier,” I said.
“Sure thing. Go ahead and sit down, it’s just about ready.”
“You’re pretty bossy,” I said, sliding into the semi-circular booth.
“Am I? Oh, grab the wine.”
I slid back out and took the bottle from the counter and brought it to the table, then turned and found him grinning at me. “What?”
He cracked up, then just as quickly clamped his mouth shut, all but clacking his teeth together. “I see you take orders pretty well.”
He did not just run an experiment on me. Except, he did, and I fell for it. I slowly shook my head, feeling myself turning red. “I most certainly do not.” His mouth started to open, and I hurriedly sat again before he could tell me to.
Snickering, he served me up my salad while the steaks breathed. After opening the wine and pouring us each a glass, he grinned at me again. “Enjoy.”
I clenched my teeth together as he took his wine glass and held it for me to clink. I finally did, taking a big gulp of my wine. “That’s not because you told me to.”
“Okay, no more teasing. I’m only suggesting you enjoy your meal, because I truly hope you do.”
His sincere tone matched with how hungry I was made me forgive his little joke. We chatted about the town while we ate our salad and when he got up to get the steaks, he frowned down under the table.
“How’s your ankle? Do you want a chair to put your foot up on? Maybe it should be elevated.”
Before I could answer he dragged one of the carved dining room tables over and pushed it up against the booth, dropping to his knees to help me get my foot up on it. Patting my ankle, he looked expectantly over the tabletop.
“Better?”
“It actually feels a lot better,” I said somewhat begrudgingly. “How did you learn to wrap a sprain so well? You really don’t go around knocking people over on the regular, do you?”
Sliding back in beside me, he shook his head. “Ha. No, my buddies and I have had our share of skiing and snowboarding accidents, that’s all. You’re actually the first person I’ve ever tackled outside of a high school football game.”
“That’s reassuring.”
He took a bite of steak and closed his eyes, savoring it for a second. I took the opportunity to check out his profile, my fingers itching to stroke his strong, stubbled jawline. He opened his eyes and smiled at me, and I quickly turned back to my steak. It was delicious and I felt my own eyes drifting shut at the burst of flavor on my tongue. When I opened them, he was looking at me the same way I was looking at him a second ago. This was treading close to dangerous territory, because that look made me flutter in places I shouldn’t have been fluttering.
I leaned closer, licking my lips.