Chapter 20
Joey
Romancing the Baker
For a guy who plays a position that requires nerves of steel, I’m a nervous wreck thinking about my date with Emma. Like shaking in my skates nervous.
It takes three attempts to tie my tie. Granted, I don’t wear a suit and tie very often, but I’m being such a fumble fingers tonight. The tie is either crooked, too tight, or too long. Part of me wants to ditch the darn thing, but the other part of me wants to impress my beautiful date.
Back to tying the tie. . .
After I manage to get my neckwear attached properly, I shrug into the suit jacket, then glance in the mirror. Hopefully, my charcoal gray suit and red tie set the right balance and don’t come off as under-dressed.
You don’t have to wear a tux to this place, do you?
A bead of sweat trickles down my neck. At this rate, I’m going to have deodorant failure before I pick up Emma. I take some calming breaths, grab my keys and go. The least I can do is be on time.
~*~
The drive to Emma’s house feels like a thousand-mile journey, rather than a quick jaunt across town. When I pull into the driveway, all the lights in the house are on. After ringing the bell, Mia greets me and lets me in. Emma had mentioned needing help to get ready, but I thought it was just an excuse to see Mia. How elaborate is my date’s outfit?
“She’s almost ready,” Mia remarks, then looks me over from head to toe. I feel like a gnat under a microscope and wonder if my tie is uneven. “Don’t you clean up nicely!” she says with a laugh as she sprints off down the hall. I pace back and forth in the entry, nerves coming back in full force.
Emma appears as if from thin air. My pacing stops, my jaw drops, and all the air whooshes from my lungs. “I’m ready,” she says, while nervously twisting the straps of her purse.
“You look gorgeous,” I rasp over the lump in my throat. My brain finally catches up and I walk over, then gaze into her chocolate brown eyes. “Wow.” This outfit was worth waiting for.
The dress is a shimmery sapphire blue fabric, and it clings to all her curves perfectly. She let her hair down and it tumbles around her shoulders. Her cheeks are turning pink under my intense gaze. The high heels she’s wearing makes her almost at eye-level and those shoes emphasize her long, sexy legs. All I can do is stare at her as if she’s an enticing oasis in the desert.
“Um, should we go?”
The quietly spoken words jolt me into action. I extend my hand, and she clasps it, giving me a shy smile. “Our reservation is at seven,” I say needlessly as we walk towards the front door.
Mia, who I didn’t even notice standing off to the side, smiles. “Have fun you two! I’ll lock up.”
Neither of us acknowledge her comment. I hold Emma’s hand tightly as we negotiate the front steps, amazed that she can do it so gracefully in those high heels. After helping her in the passenger seat, I do a mental fist pump. How did Josef Svenson win over the most beautiful woman in the world?
Thanking my lucky stars, I hop in and we drive away.
~*~
Our conversation on the drive to the restaurant is a little stilted at first, but we eventually set aside our nerves to talk about something other than the weather. I ask Emma to describe her newest cupcake recipe, the one that Blake’s been raving over.
“It’s a strange combination, but it works!” Emma says with a smile.
I wrinkle my nose. “Avocados in a cupcake?”
“I know what you’re thinking—that’s a weird ingredient, but it makes the cupcake batter smooth and moist. Plus, it doesn’t interfere with the other flavors. It’s barely noticeable yet it adds a special touch.”
Barely noticeable? Why use it then?
Keeping my thoughts to myself, I tease, “I’m going to need to try one to be convinced.”
She rolls her eyes. “Blake said the same thing. In fact, he tried half a dozen. Now he’s hooked on them.”
The backup goalie has a direct line to tasting all of Emma’s new recipes. I’m kind of jealous. Reaching across the console, Emma pats my arm. “How about I send some home with Blake, and you can tell me what you think.”
“I guess I can take one for the team,” I joke, and she laughs.
The restaurant comes into view, and I turn into the lot. After parking, I come around to the passenger side, and help her out, a glimpse of those long legs causing me to lose my breath. She hooks her hand on my arm and grins up at me. “Let’s go see what all the fuss is about.”
Despite it being a Wednesday evening, it looks like most of the tables in the dining room are occupied. I give our name to the hostess and seconds later a black clad waiter appears.
“Welcome to Le Chateau Gourmand,” he says as he leads us to our table, presents us with heavy leather-bound menus, then floats away.
Even though the menus are massive, there’s only a few items listed on the pages. I squint at the fancy names and the only one I recognize is Soufflé. That sounds safe enough, but is that an entrée?
“I wonder what Soupe de Poissons is?” I whisper. “Maybe I’ll avoid that one.”
“Wise choice, although it’s probably delicious,” Emma replies.
Our waiter returns and explains the main entrées. I select Steak au Poivre and Emma orders Marseille style Shrimp Stew. We both get a glass of wine and the Salade de Chèvre Chaud, which is goat’s cheese salad. The poison soup turns out to be fish soup, although neither of us are brave enough to try it.
After the waiter leaves, Emma leans in and whispers, “Bailey said this place is over-the-top.”
“Julia Child says you can’t go wrong with French cuisine.”
Emma arches an eyebrow, “And you know this, how?”
“By watching Julie and Julia , of course.” That was another of my mom’s favorite movies, so I got roped into watching it several times.
She laughs. “Honestly, I’m too scared to attempt any of Julia’s recipes.”
“Any recipe with more than five steps is out in my book.”
“Five steps?”
“You know, prepare in ten minutes or less, cook in thirty minutes or less, dish up, eat, and wash up. The washing up phase should also be less than ten minutes.”
Emma shakes her head and giggles. “The Svenson rules of cooking.”
I shrug. “They work.”
A woman wearing a white blouse and black skirt arrives holding our salad plates. “Enjoy!” she says as she sets them on the table.
Carefully reviewing the silverware line up, I select the outermost fork and dig in, grateful that I reviewed Emily Post’s description on silverware etiquette. Her tip for working your way inward was brilliant.
Emma gives me a flirty smirk, knowing exactly what was going through my mind.
We eat in silence for several seconds. “The French do know how to cook,” Emma comments looking delighted in her salad.
“It is delicious, but I wish there was more of it,” I whisper.
Her shoulders shake with suppressed laughter. “Maybe you should order the soup.”
“I was thinking about that meat and cheese board thing.”
“You mean the charcuterie board?” Her lips twitch and she avoids eye contact as she focuses on her salad.
“Yes, that. Maybe it would have more than eight unidentifiable leaves, a couple of blobs of cheese, and three croutons on it.” I point my fork to those objects on my plate. “For fifteen bucks, you’d think they could throw in a tomato slice or two.”
A laugh slips from Emma’s lips. She claps her hand over her mouth and holds up her hand. “Enough with the comedy act, Josef.”
I beam at her, pleased that I’m enhancing her dining experience. Leaning closer, I add, “I’m here all meal. Food commentary is free, but advice on silverware usage is extra.” I wink.
She snorts.
Pointing my fork at her, I say, “If my steak is smaller than my fist, I’m ordering the board thing.”
~*~
“Are you ready to order dessert?” the waiter asks as he clears away our entrée plates. Even though my steak was barely larger than a deck of cards, I refrained from ordering the fancy meat and cheese platter. I figured I better save room for dessert.
Jutting my chin towards Emma, I say, “Ladies choice.”
“Can we split something?” she asks.
I was actually counting on devouring a thick slice of the decadent chocolate cake I saw at the table next to ours. Oh well. “Sure, what would you like?”
The waiter produces a one-page menu from his pocket. “I’ll let you look over the desserts for a few minutes.”
Glancing at the paper, I doubt it’s going to take even fifteen seconds to review, considering the list consists of four items. He disappears before I comment, and Emma swipes the menu from the tabletop.
“Ooh! They have crèmebr?lée topped with fresh raspberries.”
“Do you get more than three berries?” I grumble, knowing how meager the portions have been so far.
Emma tosses me an annoyed glare. “Josef, this isn’t the all-you-can-eat buffet,” she scolds.
“That’s for sure,” I blurt.
“We can order two desserts,” Emma offers.
“In that case, let’s also order the chocolate cake.”
“You wanted your own dessert from the onset, didn’t you?”
“Maybe?”
She shakes her head as if I’m a misbehaving two-year-old, but there’s still a glint of amusement in her eyes.
We order both desserts and I consume most of them. Emma only takes a few bites of each, citing how tight her dress is starting to feel. “I’m enjoying the view,” I say while chowing down on the cake. She rolls her eyes while I almost lick the plate then realize that my pants feel a little tight. Why don’t suit pants come in stretchy fabric?
I pay the bill, and we leave. There’s a spring in my step knowing that this date is behind me.
First official date in the books! Hopefully many more to come.
As we walk to the parking lot, I put my arm around her, and ask, “Despite my caveman antics, did you have a good time?”
“You were hilarious. The couple beside us were in stitches a couple of times.”
“So, I didn’t blow it and embarrass you?”
She stops and stares at me. “Most of your comments were spot on, actually.”
I dip my head and kiss her, enjoying the taste of chocolate still lingering on her lips. “I’m glad you enjoyed it, but can we go to the all-you-can-eat buffet place next time?”
She laughs and swats my arm.