Page 37 of Hearts on the Table
He didn’t let me squirm for much longer, cupping my wrist to get my attention. “You should have that. People you love, that you’re close to.”
I understood why he looked so distressed. For someone who’d spent their life building and maintaining healthy, long-term relationships, the way I kept things at surface-level might seem a little bewildering. Seeing as this was only our first non-date, it was challenging to explore this with him. A crippling fear of intimacy wasn’t something you could drop casually into conversation.
Even if it was somewhat less terrifying when I was considering it withhim.
“Close relationships,” I hummed instead, squinting. “And I suppose you’re going to tell me you’re happy to apply for the job?”
He just bit into his cookie.
???
We made a second loop around the market. Then a third. I wasn’t sure what the plan was for the rest of the day, but I couldn’t bring myself to ask. The intimate little bubble that formed around us was too precious to pop. I was having more fun walking around with Sam than I ever did in the OR.
I paused over some interesting essential oil blends while he’d gotten sucked into a vintage book kiosk that boasted a significant section of wartime biographies. He got more riled up about his books than the produce.
“These people are going through hell. Literally. And they keep going. I might never know what it’s like to be so dedicated to a cause.” His vehemence made me bite my lip.
He left with three books, but didn’t bat an eye when I confessed to being one of those cliché Americans who didn’t read and instead filled my time binging Netflix and old reality TV shows. He’d asked me just as many questions about my shows as I’d asked about his books. Maybe even more.
We were deep in conversation about a Korean drama that had recently consumed my life when my stomach started rumbling, awoken by the homesick smell of roasting meat.
“Mmm. Barbecue. Do you smell that?” Sam gave me a look I couldn’t interpret. I tried to remember the details of his taco order from the other night and came up blank. “Oh, Lord, you’re not a vegetarian, are you? I mean, it’s fine if you are, but I’m going to get some pulled pork. If you have any ethical issues with eating meat, you’re going to need to avert your eyes.”
“No concerns.”
“Where’s the—oh.” I realized that we were already standing in line for the food truck wafting the incredible smells my way. I was nearly close enough to feel the heat from the smoker. “We’re getting barbecue?”
I squinted up at him, once more cursing the fact that I’d accidentally left my sunglasses at home.
“Yeah.” He shifted, slipping his bulk in between me and the sun. “You’re on a mission.”
“I…Yes. I am.”
Moving from Texas to Chicago had been a shock to the system in more ways than one. I found myself alone, cut off from my friends and family, and the world I’d always known, and in a new culture that took me a while to understand.
I was a full-fledged convert, and would argue about the best Chicago-style pizzeria with the enthusiasm of a local, but my little southern heart still yearned for good pit barbecue. I’d been on a quest for years to find a brisket that reminded me of home. So far, nothing had measured up.
“These guys are good,” Sam assured as we shuffled forward.
“More than just good!” A woman in front of us turned around. “Best in the city. They’re only at this market during the summer and they run out fast. I spent all week thinking about this. You’re not really a vegetarian, are you?”
“No, ma’am,” Sam replied, solemn. She sniffed and turned around. I realized that we’d actually been standing in line for quite some time, and that the queue of people stretching behind us was growing longer by the minute. I’d been too absorbed by him to notice.
When I couldn’t decide what I wanted, Sam convinced me to split a sampler with him, complete with several sides and sweet tea that the cashier assured me was authentic. While we waited for our order, I surveyed the market, but my eyes flickered back to Sam again and again.
He didn’t speak, as usual. My mind churned for another moment before I blurted, “Did you bring me here just for the barbecue?”
He paused for a split-second. “Yes.” He looked down at me and I realized how close we were standing. “I thought you’d like it.”
“Workout, breakfast, barbecue…” I frowned at him. “What else do you have planned?”
He shrugged, unconcerned about the lack of space between our bodies. “Walk along the lake. Go back to my place. Make pasta.”
“Back to your place.”
“Mmhm.”
“To make pasta.”
