Page 60 of Hopeless Romantic
“Dinner. I noticed you never had that hot dog.”
“Thankfully I didn’t, or I wouldn’t have this in my hand.” She took a bite, and her mouth exploded with the most amazing flavors. “I’ve never had this. Why have I never had this?”
“It’s moussaka, which is kind of like Greek lasagna, only with eggplant and potatoes instead of noodles. It’s my favorite recipe from my grandmother.”
“And you’re sharing it with me?”
“My mom baked it tonight to tempt me into having dinner at her place. It worked so well, I figured I’d do the same.”
“What would happen to the great Levi Rhodes if it got out he stole moves from his mom?”
“My mom would get bumper stickers made. Then tell whoever would listen about the mind-altering powers of her moussaka. It’s already rumored to be the cure for finicky-kid syndrome.”
“Maybe I should send Thomas her way. He won’t eat anything green, mushy, or with nutritional value. So different from when I was young. My mom didn’t do picky. You ate what was served or went hungry. By served, I mean what was delivered. She was more of a takeout kind of cook.” She took another bite and moaned. “You seriously grew up eating like this every night?”
“My mom shows her love through food, which is why I was a chubby kid.”
“I need to see pictures to believe it. Best surprise ever,” she said around a mouthful. “I recognize the name from your menu, but I had no idea what it was, which is why I never ordered it. I will next time.”
“Don’t. Gus is a great chef, but he can’t hold a candle to my family. Next time you want some, I’ll make it for you.”
“You cook?”
He released a very male-sounding laugh. “Since I was old enough to reach the counter. I deliver, too, if you’re lucky.”
Realizing she had polished off a big portion, she offered him the container. He merely took the fork—the same one she’d been using—and had a bite.
She sipped from the bottle and offered it to him. He waved it off. “I’m driving. But don’t let that stop you.”
Beckett took another swallow and laughed.
“What?” he asked.
“I’m sitting on a tailgate, eating Greek food, and drinking wine from a bottle. On a weeknight.”
“You need to hang with me more,” he said and had another bite.
Something she was beginning to seriously consider. If he could make her feel this special hanging out, what would it be like to go on an actual date? And how hard would it be when it ended?
“No wonder women can’t leave you alone,” she said, leaning back against the side wall to sip the wine.
“Funny you should say that, since the only woman I’m interested in keeps ghosting me.”
“I wasn’t ghosting you,” she said, and he shot her a disbelieving look. “Okay, fine, I was ghosting you, but only because I was embarrassed of the epic display of crazy when you dropped me off.”
“I grew up in a Greek home; embarrassing each other was our way of showing affection,” he said. “Just tonight, my five-foot-nothing mom sent me to my room because I took you wedding cake tasting before bringing you home to meet her.”
She tried to sit up and choked on her wine. “What did you tell her?”
“That I’ll bring you over for dinner before the wedding.” With a wink that stirred her insides, he took one last bite, then put the lid on the container and stored it back in the bag.
“What are you doing?” She reached for the moussaka, and he gave a low chuckle.
“There’s still dessert.”
She stretched, gauging how much room was left in her stomach, then factored in the kind of dessert that was likely to follow up that meal. “Is it as good as I think?”
“Better.”
