Page 88 of Nailing Heat
“No couch picnic,” I reply.
I watch her enter the small space and see the roses that I set up on the table. There are two candles that have been lit and are on either side of them. The table is set with the dinner plate and silverware. I have the bottle of wine out on the table with the glasses. I even took a few rose petals and spread them on the table. The rest of those petals are scattered all over my bed. But she’ll see that surprise later.
When she turns to look at me, her face is full of shock. “I can’t believe that you did all of this.”
“Well, I wanted you to have a special night with me. I thought that I owed you a nice date night. I know it’s not a restaurant or anything but it’s my way of showing you how much I care for you.” I lay it all out there. I want her to know that she means the world to me. It’s crazy to think that way of her in this short period of time, at least that is what my head tells me. But my heart says fuck, let’s go all in with this one. The simple gestures used to impress Elise but somewhere along the line, I stopped doing them. Instead, I bought her things and that became the symbol of my love and then the gifts only showed my absence. With Amelia, I don’t want to stop focusing on the thoughtful gestures and leave the material things for holidays only.
“Thank you. No one has ever done anything like this for me before. This is really something.” Her eyes are shining, and I’m worried that she might cry.
I walk on over to her. “Are you okay?”
“I’m more than okay,” she tells me. Her mouth opens and she is about to say something when the oven timer rings out.
“I’m sorry, I have to get that. I don’t want to burn your brownies. Especially after you were so excited for them,” I tell her, making my way into the kitchen.
I pull them from the oven and notice how perfectly done they are. I place a sheet of foil over the pan, tucking the edges loosely around the lip because I want them to cool but not too much. The best part of these brownies is eating them when they are warm and gooey. The steak is already out and resting. The sides have been prepared. It’s time for me to serve it all up for her.
I go back into the dining area and grab our plates. “Have a seat and enjoy some wine. I’m going to make you a plate.”
I head back in and plate up her steak, placing a little bit of au jus on it. I also serve her some potatoes and asparagus. I hope that my food tastes as good as the presentation. I plate my own and head into the dining room, placing her plate in front of her first.
“Enjoy,” I tell her, while taking my seat.
“This looks so good, Dex. Thank you, really, thank you for doing this for me.”
“You’re welcome. Like I said, I wanted to show you just how special that you are to me,” I tell her.
“You sure did.” Amelia picks up her fork and steak knife, cutting into the meat and taking her first bite. A moan escapes her lips. A sound I love to hear. “Oh my god, this is amazing. One of the best steaks I’ve ever had.”
“You’re only saying that to me so that you can get into my pants later,” I tease her with a wink.
“Was there ever any doubt that that was happening later?” she goads me.
I chuckle. “No, no there wasn’t.”
We eat in silence for moment, taking sips of wine and enjoying our entrees and sides. I notice a little moan escaping her lips every once in a while. I mark this in the win column. I have soft music playing to help set the mood and even though we’re quiet, it’s not awkward. It’s like we’re an old married couple that’s been doing this over and over again for years.
I love this feeling.
My cell phone rings in the kitchen, interrupting the comfortable silence between us.
“Excuse me,” I tell her, getting up quickly to check and see who is trying to reach me. The caller ID says “Elise.” I hit decline and switch the phone to silent. She will not ruin my night with Amelia.
“Did you need to take that?” she asks when I return.
I shake my head. “No, that’s a wrong number,” I lie, but she doesn’t notice. She’s too busy eating the steak I prepared for her.
“How did you know that I liked my steak medium rare?” she asks.
“Lucky guess. I cooked it the way I like it,” I admit.
“This is incredible. Where did you learn to cook like this?”
I put my fork down and take a sip of my wine before diving into it. “My mom was a single mom. She worked late some nights and needed my sisters and I to start dinner, depending on who had practice. So, she spent time every weekend teaching us. I learned a lot from her, my sisters and watching cooking shows.”
“Well, your sisters, your mother and the cooking shows did an amazing job teaching you to cook.”
“I’m really glad you like it.” I pick up my glass and clear my throat. “I feel like I need to say this to you.”
