Page 31 of Flame After the Fumble

Me: Can’t. I have a date.

Ryan: Seriously?

Mason: Don’t tell me. . .

Me: None of you all’s business. I won’t be out though.

Mason: Loserrrrrrr

Ryan: Why am I in this group message again?

I would skip a night out at the bar to spend a minute with Liza any day of the week. Shaking my thoughts away for the time being, I run the vacuum over our shaggy rug harboring snack crumbs in its fur. After it looks good enough, I move to the kitchen to tie the full garbage and replace it with a new bag, but before I take the garbage to the can downstairs, I remember all the empty water bottles Violet’s been complaining about. I scoop five bottles with only drops left and toss them in the freshgarbage bag. I nod my head in acceptance at this rush clean.Gold star for me.

Boom! Boom! Boom!

Knocks rattle the apartment door, hopefully, announcing Liza’s arrival. Sliding my socks on the hardwood floor, I stop in front of the door to let her in.

“Hey!” She greets me with that radiant look and a small wave that cracks my heart wide open and allows light to pour in. Her arms are covered with plastic grocery bags full of items. She rocks back and forth on her feet in excitement before she drops the bags on the ground and squeals. “I can’t wait any longer.” My ball of sunshine leaps into my arms, and I spin her around twice, inhaling the sweet cinnamon scent of her damp hair. I allow my hand to travel down to the small of her back as I lower her down to the floor. She locks in on my eyes and tilts her head slightly to the side. Her hands still looped around my neck. “I’m so stinkin’ proud of you!”

“This was all you, Goldie.” My cheeks flame. Well, that’s new. My hands travel from her back to her hips. I squeeze before dropping them to my side. Her hands drop shortly after. “What’s all this?” I peer around her at the grocery bags piled up at the door.

“Oh, you know, just a mega surprise.” Liza spins around, picks up the bags, and goes to the kitchen to place them on the counter space. “Come see.”

I follow her lead into the kitchen as she unloads the items. First, she takes out two packs of crescent rolls. Then, she takes out a giant bag of powdered sugar. Finally, she removes a gigantic bottle of Hershey’s chocolate syrup.

Her hands fly out in a grand gesture. “I present to you, drumroll please.” I take that as my cue to pound the counter with my fist to give her the drama she wants for the moment. “The world’s best ingredients to make homemade beignets!”

“Beignets?!” I gasp and fly around the counter to be by her side. I drop down to one knee. “Will you marry me?”

She giggles and swats my hand away before I get any crazy ideas like actually marrying her. I probably would do it.

“Seriously, I wanted to do something special for you. You killed that test.”

I don’t take compliments well, so I deflect with a joke. “The stupid football player finally earned a passing grade. It’s a story for the ages.” I flip my hat backward and turn away to hide my emotions, but a cold hand grabs my wrist before I can make the full turn.

“You’re not stupid.” She levels me with furrowed brows and a frown. All hints of playfulness are long gone. “When we say those things about ourselves, we start to believe they’re true.”

I have no verbal response for the heated sensation in my chest and my elevated heart rate. Liza makes mefeellike I’m something more than just a NCAA figurehead. She sees me for more than the jokester who causes trouble to get a rise out of people and deflect from my shortcomings. She sees past the exterior to who I really am, and that terrifies me. She must notice that I’m pale as a ghost, so she grabs my hand and rubs it tenderly.

“Come on. I’m teaching you how to make these.”

“The New Orleans girl brings beignets to Florida.”

“Someone has to.”

If I thought academic Liza was a vision, kitchen Liza is downright torturous. I’ve had to watch her lick the excess ingredients off her fingers after each step. The fact that I haven’t groaned at the sight should earn some type of award.

“If beignets are this easy to make, why don’t more places serve them?” I question as I help her lift the first batch of rolled crescents out of the fryer oil.

“This is the shortcut way to make them.” She continues her methodical steps without missing a beat. “The real secret lies within the walls of Cafe Du Monde.”

“You’ll have to bring me one day.” Ripping open the bag of powdered sugar, I carefully hand the goods over to Liza, because, according to her, there’s a right and wrong way to apply the powdered sugar.

“Watch and learn.” She grabs a pinch of powdered sugar from the bag. “It’s a sprinkle, not a douse.”

Following her lead, I pinch some of my own and help her finish off this batch.

“Now we let them cool for a minute or two before digging in.” She admires the fluffy goodness in awe.

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