Page 29 of Blind Date with a #FORMERPLAYER
“To getting to know each other better,” he proclaims, holding my stare.
A shiver runs down my spine and I let out a shaky breath, tipping my wineglass to his. “I’ll drink to that.” As the light clink echoes in the room, I tear my eyes from his, attemptingto calm my nerves. I take a sip, the dry, oaky flavors accented with a hint of peach dance on my tongue.
“What do you think?”
I lick my lips and his gaze follows the movement making me gasp. “It’s good. I like it.”
Taking a deep breath, he spins away from me and sets his glass down. “Good, good,” he murmurs, turning on the stove. Lifting the lid off a large skillet, he grabs a serving spoon and stirs, the savory aroma of its contents hitting me.
Closing my eyes, I inhale deeply. “That smells so good,” I croon, opening my eyes and staring at him. “What are you making?”
Satisfaction and happiness dance in his eyes. “Shrimp orzo. It’s garlic sautéed shrimp with the orzo cooked in clam juice, blended with peas, sun-dried tomatoes, spinach, cream, lemon…” He pauses, glancing at me. “We weren’t gone long, so it will be ready soon. I think you’ll like it.”
“It sounds incredible and smells even better.”
His cheeks heat, surprising me. “Thanks.”
“So, you like to cook?”
“Yeah, I guess it made things easier.”
My eyebrows draw down in confusion. “What do you mean?”
He chuckles and waves his hand in the air as if it’s no big deal, but something in his eyes tells me that’s not the case. “I was a teenage boy and an athlete. I ate a lot.” He laughs again, but it sounds hollow.
“You learned young.”
“Yeah. What about you? Do you like to cook?”
“I do, but I can’t cook anything fancy like this.”
He chuckles. “This isn’t fancy.”
“It is to me.”
“Well, as long as you like it, I’ll be happy.” He stirs the contents in the deep skillet again. “It’s about ready. Do you mind grabbing the bread out of the oven? The mitts are in the drawer to the left of it.”
“Sure.”
“It’s already cut. I put it in there to keep it warm. Why don’t you take that and your wine to the table, I’ll be right there with dinner.”
“Okay,” I agree, doing as he suggests.
I sit down at the long side of the table where we’ll be closer. A few moments later he sets a white bowl down in front of me causing my mouth to water. The shells are removed from the pink shrimp, mixed in with the white of the orzo, and the greens and reds of the veggies, a picture perfect, colorful palette. “This looks amazing, Levi.”
He smiles and strides back to the kitchen, retrieving his wine, butter, and some fresh parmesan before sitting down across from me. “Dig in,” he urges, his eyes glued to me.
“Don’t watch.”
“What?” He laughs, but my eyes narrow. “Okay, fine. Just eat.” He picks up his fork, flicking his gaze from me to his own food and back before taking a bite.
The moment my mouth closes over my fork, the flavors burst in my mouth and my eyes reflexively close. A soft hum escapes, as I savor the taste. “Oh my god, Levi, this is delicious.”
“Thank you,” he rasps, his voice strained. “But if you eat every bite like that, I may not make it through dinner.”
My face flushes and my stomach twists. “Um, I’m ah…I’m sorry.”
“Please, don’t be sorry.” His eyes glint with mischief.
