Chapter 15 #3
I wrinkle my nose. “That’s raw beef, isn’t it?”
“Mostly raw, yes.”
“Doesn’t beef taste best with some grill marks and a little charcoal?” I bite my lips together for a moment. “I don’t want to waste food, but I don’t think this is my thing.”
“You have to try it before you say no to it,” he says.
“Can’t you just try it and tell me what you think?”
“That’s not how it works.”
I blow out a breath and feign exasperation. “Fine, but you have to go first.” This is better. No more falling into the sadness of the past. Both of us seem to have been through enough.
He pops a forkful into his mouth and chews while making intense eye contact.
“You would make an incredible poker player.”
“I used to take everyone’s money back at the Hockey Academy. Unsurprisingly, it did not help win me friends.” He gathers a small bite on his fork and lifts it to my mouth. “Your turn.”
“How does it taste?”
“Like you’d expect.”
“Not helpful.”
The side of his mouth quirks up. He continues to hold the fork in front of me. I stick my tongue out and poke at the bit near the end. Then retract to get a sense of the flavor.
“What are you doing?”
“Discerning the likelihood of activating my gag reflex.”
“I don’t know that it would be on menus if it was a horrible experience.”
“Agreed, but texture is a thing for me.”
His expression shifts. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, Mildred. Apart from the one obvious thing.”
“I wouldn’t have agreed to any of it if I found you unpalatable.” I wrap my fingers around his wrist and take the offered bite.
I chew quickly and swallow.
He arches a dark brow.
“It’s not as unappealing as I expected, but I’m right about the texture. I also think some of my friends might have questions, and Flip will definitely think you’re trying to feed him cat food.”
“That guy used to swallow sandwiches whole at the Hockey Academy.”
“I believe it. He still eats every meal like it’s his last most of the time. He used to eat brown sugar sandwiches with margarine when things were particularly tight.” Flip still has some serious food insecurities, as does his sister, Rix.
Connor frowns. “Why brown sugar and margarine?”
“They didn’t have anything else.”
He blinks at me as true understanding dawns.
“Kind of explains why he was so offended about the sandwich you defiled.”
His cheeks flush, and he bows his head. “It was such a stupid thing to do.”
“I’m sure at the time it felt like reasonable retaliation for your last clean shirt.” I push my plate toward him. “Here, you can eat mine, too.”
“I don’t want to eat either of them. My father knows I hate steak tartare, which is likely why it’s on the tasting menu.”
“Ah, I see. Well then…” I pull the plate back toward me. “We’ll eat them in homage to Flip, who hates wasted food.”
“You’d do anything for him, wouldn’t you?” Connor asks, envy in his tone.
“Almost anything. I wouldn’t sleep with him, but we protect each other.”
“Why didn’t you ask him for help with your apartment?”
“I didn’t want it to change our friendship. But his story is not mine to tell.”
“Something happened, though.” Connor’s eyes stay locked on mine, probing.
I nod, but say nothing else.
“Between the two of you?”
I can’t tell if it’s curiosity, jealousy, or something else that’s driving his questions.
“No, before he knew me.”
His shoulders ease.
“On the count of three.” I dig my fork into my steak tartare.
He does the same, and we both take a bite. I’m glad the portion is small, and I only have two more bites before I decide it’s enough to feel like it’s not a complete waste.
The courses that follow are all incredible, each sample better than the last. The seared scallops are to die for, and so are the potato puffs and braised carrots.
And then they bring out three types of gelato.
“I already know which one is the winner before I’ve even tasted them,” I declare. “But I’m not telling you until we’ve tried them all.”
Connor shifts sideways, one arm draped over the back of his chair.
I like this version of him, and I want more of it.
“Which one would you like to try first?”
I shake my head. “That’s too easy. You pick the first one, and we taste it at the same time.”
He digs into one that looks like chocolate, so I do the same. We pop the bites at the same time. It’s smooth and creamy, but also fudgy and rich with notes of salt and caramel.
“Thoughts?” Connor asks.
“Delicious.”
“Agreed.”
We set our spoons in the glass and move to the next one.
It’s yellow with purple ribbons through it. The tart flavor bursts on my tongue. “Lavender lemon?”
“Hemi would love this, wouldn’t she?” Connor goes back for a second spoon. “Dallas always brings her lavender lattes.”
“He does. They’re her favorite. And peach anything.”
He moves to the pink scoop of gelato between us.
Instead of bringing his spoon to his own lips, he lifts it to mine.
I open for him, and the sweet-tart taste of strawberry, threaded through with vanilla, melts over my tongue, sharp and creamy and luscious.
My eyes fall closed, and I hum contentedly.
“This one’s my favorite,” Connor murmurs.
My eyes pop open to find him staring intently at me.
I swallow the bite. “You haven’t even tried it.”
He sets the spoon down and brushes his thumb along my bottom lip. “I don’t need to.” He licks the pad, eyes darkening. “You already told me it’s your favorite.”
“What about your favorite?”
“I already have it.”