Page 71 of Not Before Game Night
Tonight, I’d chosen our new favorite restaurant.
Casa Picante.
It didn’t take long for me to discover that Vanessa loved Italian food and she appreciated it even more in restaurants that took on a more homemade style rather than the overly classy places I’d taken her to.
Flavor. It was all about flavor and what she called made with love.
We were just finishing off our lasagna, her favorite on the menu. For dessert she’d ordered profiteroles, and I got a sorbet.
“You better have some with me. I’m not going to get fat by myself.” She giggled.
She couldn’t put on any kind of weight if she tried, and not from profiteroles.
“You’ll be fine, baby. Just eat.”
“I’ll have two.” She straightened.
“And what of the rest?”
“You can have two as well. The serving size is eight. Cole, you know it’s a sharing bowl.” She pretended to pout, and I laughed.
We’d been here for nearly two hours. It really was a beautiful night, and she looked beautiful.
Her hair was up tonight, pulled back into a ponytail so it showed off her high exotic cheekbones.
She wore a little black dress that made me crazy for her because I loved her in that color, but then it was the same with any color she wore. She looked good in everything.
“What?” she asked. “You’re doing that thing again.” She chuckled.
“What thing, baby?”
“The looking thing. I still… can’t figure you out, so I have no idea what you’re thinking.”
“I don’t want you to figure me out,” I teased.
“Why on earth not? That’s not fair.”
“Well, when you figure me out, it means the element of shock and surprise is gone.”
“I get that, but it would be nice to figure you just a little. I can honestly say that I don’t know anyone else who frowns when they tell a joke or smiles when they’re talking about something serious. It’s weird.”
I laughed. It actually sounded like she did have me figured out.
“How about we let time help you along. Maybe you’ll figure me out in a few years.”
“Years?” She raised her brows. “Yes, I agree it’s going to take me years.”
She gave me that look of awe.
All night I’d been gearing up to talk to her about how I felt about her. All night I’d sat here acting like I was my usual cool, but I wasn’t. I was nervous. Me, nervous over a woman.
There was a natural pause in our conversation that gave me the chance to say something, but I didn’t take the leap. Nervously, she glanced over at the waiter coming over to us with our desserts.
The waiter placed them on the table, and as he went away, I humored her by taking two of her profiteroles.
“Thank you,” she bubbled and leaned over to kiss me.
Someone cleared their throat loud. It was in an overly exaggerated manner that felt directed at us.
