CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
The moment I hear Gideon’s Jeep in the driveway, my pulse picks up. I smooth my hands nervously down my dress. “He lives across the street. It feels weird he insists on picking me up.”
Tess looks up from the pot she’s stirring on the stove. “It’s not a real date if you have to walk across the street to his house.”
I sigh. “That’s what Gideon said.”
“I want to say hello to Gideon,” declares Lisset. She’s sitting on a kitchen stool tearing up basil leaves for the spaghetti Napoletana she’s making with Tess.
Tess points a wooden spoon at her. “Stay right where you are, Princess. This is Mom’s night.” Before Lisset’s bottom lip can jut out, she adds, “We don’t want your magnificence overshadowing your mom. It’s her turn to shine.”
Lisset giggles and resumes her basil tearing, suddenly content to stay put.
“Thank you for looking after Lisset,” I say to Tess. “Hope you two have fun.”
“Not as much fun as you’ll have. See you later.”
She’s staying the night at my place. Aaron is away at a cybersecurity conference and Tess didn’t want to be home alone. At least, that’s the reason she gave me. I suspect she wants to stay up all night bombarding me with questions about every detail of my date with Gideon.
I’m heading down the hallway when Tess abruptly catches up to me and says in a low voice, “Look, I genuinely like Gideon but just take care, okay?”
I gape at her. “Why would you say this now?”
“It’s probably nothing, but sometimes Gideon has this expression, like something is really troubling him.”
“Seriously? An expression ?”
“When we first met, Aaron had the same haunted expression.”
Aaron had good reason for that expression, and we only understood why when we found out what he suffered through in his past. But Gideon? It’s not the same. This is merely Tess and her fanciful imagination. But in a bid to appease her, I say, “Don’t worry, I’ll take care. Now I have to go.”
Tess pulls me in for a quick hug. “Have a good time.”
I step outside and close the front door behind me. We’re one week away from summer and I can already feel the warm buzz in the air.
Gideon is halfway up my porch steps. The second he sees me, he freezes. His expression is certainly not troubled. Heated would be a more accurate description.
A crackling energy swirls in the air between us. Wordlessly, his eyes map every inch of me.
I really need him to say something. But he continues to simply stare at me.
I clear my throat. “I don’t usually wear dress—”
I don’t have a chance to finish. In the space of two heartbeats, he’s closed the distance between us until he’s standing right in front of me. In my personal space. My breath catches, but I’m not in the least afraid.
“Give me a moment to just admire you. You’re always beautiful to me, but tonight”—he swallows—“it’s like you’re lit up from within.”
“I had a makeover—”
“Uh-uh. Accept the compliment.”
“Am I going to be able to finish any of my sentences tonight?”
“Not if they’re excuses. You look lovely.”
I feel suddenly shy. “Thank you.”
My eyes wander over his charcoal gray shirt, dark trousers, and tailored blazer. Gideon in jeans and T-shirt is incredibly attractive, but dressed-up Gideon is devastatingly appealing.
“Now, I’d like to start again. Good evening, Kate.” He leans in to brush a whisper of a kiss on my right cheek, the rough graze of his trim beard contrasting with the soft touch of his lips.
He straightens and we lock eyes for a long moment.
Well, well, he’s advanced us to the kiss greeting. Someone is flexing the rules. Someone with a playful half smile tipping his lips and a knowing glint in his eyes.
This is Gideon at his most dangerous.
Judging by the way my skin is burning, I’m here for it.
“You ready?” he asks.
“I am.”
His fingers skim the small of my back as we descend the porch steps. When he opens the car door for me, I make sure to brush against him as I climb inside. I hear his breathing shift and I hide my smile. Two can play this game.
“Where are we going?” I ask as he accelerates down the street.
“It’s a surprise.”
“Is the surprise in Brown Oaks?”
“Coopers Hill.”
Coopers Hill is two towns over. My curiosity is piqued. “Any other hints?”
“Nope.”
I let out a huffy breath. “I’m not very good with surprises.”
“I never would have guessed,” he says in an amused voice.
“Hey, I’m getting better.” My gaze takes in the clean interior of his car, no food wrappers or other trash lying around. “You know, this is a novelty for me.”
“What is?”
“A car ride without the pressure to play I Spy .”
His chest rumbles with laughter. We fall into conversation about my work and his travels. It’s easy to talk to him, but with no Lisset to distract us, the silence doesn’t feel as comfortable as our conversation. The awareness so often simmering between us feels even more intense in the close confines of the car. Tonight, my body feels responsive and my mind still. No whisperings from past ghosts.
I turn my head on my seat to study him. He drives with cool confidence, his hands relaxed on the steering wheel. I imagine those hands on my bare skin, his fingers tangled in my hair. I catch a hint of his cologne and a flash of warmth curls low in my belly. He flicks a glance at me, a smile shaping his lips. What would it be like to kiss him? How would he taste?
Gideon is not immune to the tension either. Every time I cross my legs, his hands tighten on the steering wheel. I decide to conduct an experiment. I stretch in my seat, arching my back, and out of the corner of my eye I glimpse his entire body go rigid.
Oh, the two of us are playing with fire tonight.
Thirty minutes later, we arrive in Coopers Hill. I straighten in my seat, eager to find out what Gideon has in mind for our first date. My guess is an upscale restaurant. Possibly French.
When he turns into the parking lot of a large red-brick building, I catch a glimpse of the sign outside. The Unique Food Museum .
“Is this where you’re taking me?”
“Yes.”
I break into a delighted grin. Food in all its forms fascinates me and from the sign alone, the museum promises to be a real treat to a foodie like me. “I haven’t heard of this place before.”
He looks pleased at my reaction. “I believe it just opened. Fortunately, it closes late on weekends. I thought after we tour the museum we could have dinner together.”
I touch his forearm, charmed by the degree of thought and ingenuity he’s clearly put into our date. “That sounds like a lovely plan.”
We climb out of the car and make our way to the glass-fronted entrance.
“How did you hear of this place?” I ask.
“Someone told me about it,” he replies, a little mysteriously.
“You’re not going to tell me who?” I tease.
‘Not right now, no.”
“Fine. Keep your secrets, Gideon Walker.”
“I believe this place is modeled after a similar museum in Sweden,” he tells me. “It’s supposed to be a multi-sensory immersive experience.”
A small sign on the front door poses the question, Are you an adventurous eater?
Yes, I am, I silently answer. This museum is right up my alley. Honestly, Gideon couldn’t have selected a more perfect place for a first date.
“Welcome to The Unique Food Museum!” booms the man behind the counter in a strong Australian accent. His broad grin almost blinds me with its enthusiasm. He’s wearing a black T-shirt with The Unique Food Museum emblazoned in bright green lettering across his chest. “My name is Brian. Did you make a booking?”
“We did.” Gideon gives him our names.
“Too easy.” Brian carries on talking while his fingers fly across the keyboard. “The museum has foods and delicacies from all corners of the globe. We give visitors an awesome, interactive way to experience other cultures through food.”
I smile at him, swept up in his enthusiasm. “How do you do that?” I ask curiously. “Do you have plastic replicas of international dishes?”
I’m thinking of Sampuru , the hyper-realistic plastic reproduction of dishes that’s been elevated to an art form in Japanese culinary culture.
“Nope. It’s the real deal here.” He prints out two labels with our names, slaps them onto two paper bags, and presents them to us with a flourish. “These beauties are your tickets.”
The bags look oddly familiar.
Gideon frowns. “Are these...vomit bags?”
“Bingo!” Brian confirms eagerly, looking like he’s itching to print out a star sticker and slap it on Gideon’s forehead as a reward. “Affectionately known as barf bags here.”
Now I recognize them. They’re airplane-style sick bags.
“Is this a joke?” Gideon demands.
Brian wags a lighthearted finger. “Not the first time I’ve heard that one, mate.”
Judging from Gideon’s grim expression, though, it might just be the last time he’ll hear it ever again.
Gideon continues to stare down Brian, who starts to shift uncomfortably. “Uh, no, sir, it’s not a joke. The bags serve a double purpose. Admission and, uh, if you feel like you’re gonna spew, they come in handy.”
I spot a chalkboard sign on the wall behind Brian. It reads, 3 days since the last vomit . My eyes are wide when I nudge Gideon with my elbow and draw his attention to the sign. We both watch as a museum worker walks up to the sign, erases the 3 and replaces it with 0 .
Brian turns and grins. “Ah, yeah, scoreboard’s up to date now. Looks like we had a sensitive one today. Probably had a big lunch too. Which I hope you guys didn’t. Anyway, the museum’s record is five vomits in one day, which—”
Gideon holds up a hand to quiet him. Brian shuts up, even though I can see it nearly kills him to do so. Talking appears to be his default state.
“What. Exactly. Is. This. Museum?” asks Gideon.
Undeterred by Gideon’s brusqueness, Brian lights up. So glad you asked! is written all over him. “The museum is aimed at showcasing and educating the public about some of the most disgusting and dangerous foods in the world.” The growing horror on our faces seems to loosen his tongue further. “I suggest starting in the exhibition area, where we have about fifty dishes on display. From there, you’ll head to the different smelling stations, give those nostrils a real workout. Then, when you’re good and ready, make your way to the tasting bar, where there are about ten food samples to challenge your tastebuds.” He beams. “That’ll conclude your tour.” He gives us a cocky wink. “Hopefully you won’t land up on the board. I’ll write your number there myself if you end up upchucking.”
“Thank you, Brian,” I say, when Gideon looks too dazed to reply. “You’ve been very informative.”
“No worries. You two enjoy yourselves!”
A line is quickly forming behind us. I grab Gideon’s arm and tug him away to a quiet corner. The deep frown on his face tells me he’s still processing everything. I give him the time he needs. At last, he says, “This is not what I was expecting.”
“Gideon,” I say carefully, “who told you about this place?”
“Tess.”
My mouth drops open. “You took Tess’s recommendation?”
Realization dawns on his face. “You think she did this on purpose?”
“Without a doubt.”
“I asked her for a place you’d like, and she suggested this one.” He drags a hand through his hair. “She said you probably wouldn’t know about this museum because it only recently opened.”
I briefly close my eyes. “I’m going to kill her.”
“Do you want to leave?” he asks, disappointment settling in his shoulders.
I look around at the brightly colored walls, the professional-looking exhibits, and the steady trickle of museum-goers. At least we’re not the only visitors.
“We’re here,” I say. “We might as well see what’s it all about. I mean, how bad can it be?”
“Are you sure?”
“Absolutely.”
“All right.”
Holding onto our sick bags, we head toward the exhibition area. The food is beautifully displayed in colorful bowls on top of wooden blocks. A bare bulb hangs above each bowl, highlighting the food inside.
One of the first displays features a puffer fish, a delicacy in Japan. A plaque below the exhibit informs us that the fish is so poisonous it can only be prepared by trained and licensed chefs.
Relief peppers my skin. That was actually quite interesting. Not awful at all.
We move to the next display, reading about two popular foods in the UK, both of which I’ve eaten. One is black pudding, made from pig’s blood, and the other is haggis, a Scottish dish made from sheep’s offal.
The next couple of stations are more gruesome. There’s sheep head’s soup from Iran. A giant bull penis, which is eaten in some parts of China. Fried tarantulas from Cambodia. A maggot-infested cheese from Italy. I feel bile rise to my throat when I stare at the maggots squirming in the huge hole in the cheese.
Gideon pulls me away hastily. “You okay?” he asks, looking a little pale himself.
I make myself nod. “That was...interesting.” I clutch my paper bag tightly to my chest. “How about you?”
“Hanging in there.” He exhales heavily. “You ready for the smelling section or do you want to leave?”
I straighten my spine. I work with food every day. This museum is not going to defeat me. “I’m ready. We can do this.”
The various foods are showcased in jars, which you can open up and sniff. In one jar is the world’s smelliest cheese, Vieux Boulogne. I open up the lid just the tiniest bit and take a small sniff. It smells like wet earth and rotting leaves. Gideon screws up his nose and insists it smells like a cow’s fart.
The smells become increasingly worse as we move down the displays. Durian, a spiky fruit from Southeast Asia that’s banned on public transport in Singapore, makes both of us gag.
“It smells like a hundred gym lockers all at once,” Gideon chokes out.
The worst smell is a fermented herring from Sweden. The tiniest whiff is enough to cause my throat to spasm and tears to prick my eyes. Gideon, head down, leans a hand flat against a wall for support while he takes slow, deep breaths.
I glimpse an overly loud, slightly obnoxious museum-goer hovering around us, like one of those bloated, black flies always out of swatting range. He was laughing at our reaction, but now I watch as he unscrews the lid, takes a noisy sniff, and then throws up into his vomit bag.
Both Gideon and I look away. In a grim voice, he says, “My only goal is not to be a number on that scoreboard. I don’t want to give Brian the satisfaction.” His eyes travel over me in concern. “How are you doing? Do you want to continue or would you like to go?”
I chew my lip, seriously conflicted. I think of the money Gideon spent on the tickets. I think of having to tell my sister we didn’t finish. “The tasting bar is the last part of the tour,” I say to him. “I would hate for us to give up when we’re so close to the end.”
“All right.” He squares his shoulders. “Let’s get this over with.”
Not the most romantic statement a girl wants to hear on her first date.
“Ready to sample some of the fringes of human cuisine?” a woman named Jenny asks us eagerly from behind the tasting counter.
Gideon’s face is set in a serious, determined line. “What’s first?”
“We start you off easy,” Jenny informs us with a grin.
Easy, it turns out, are crickets. Gideon bravely crunches his way through a dead cricket, grimacing the entire time, while Jenny happily informs us that insects are a sustainable protein option in Africa.
I try a black ant, but I end up spitting it out in the trash can and downing a glass of water afterward to wash away the taste. As we move through the rest of the tasting stations, we refuse to be persuaded to taste bamboo worms, giant bugs, and various beetles.
Gideon’s eyes meet mine over the last tasting station—roasted larvae. “Please tell me you’re ready to leave?” he whispers.
“I am so ready,” I whisper back.
We stumble out of the museum and stand in the parking lot, grabbing deep breaths of fresh air. Neither of us have let go of our vomit bags. Our stomachs are still queasy.
“I can’t believe I thought orange juice was bad,” he says. “This experience has unlocked a whole new level of terrible.”
“I had no idea some of these dishes even existed,” I say.
Gideon looks devastated. “Kate, I am so sorry. This is the worse date idea ever.”
Laughter spills out of me. “The absolute worst.”
“I’m never going to live this down.”
“Never,” I agree.
“My one consolation is that I can only go up from here.”
“What makes you think there’ll be a second date after this?” I ask in a playful tone.
Gideon presses a hand to his chest. “You have to give me a chance to redeem myself.”
“What do you have in mind?”
“I’m thinking a tour of our local sewerage plant.”
I’m still laughing. “Be still my beating heart. I can’t say no to that.”
“I’m guessing that after this fun experience, you’re no longer in the mood to have dinner with me?”
I stare at him thoughtfully. “How fancy is the restaurant you’ve booked?”
“Pretty fancy.”
“Will you be able to cancel your reservation?”
“That won’t be a problem,” Gideon admits, trying to conceal his disappointment.
“What I am in the mood for,” I say, “is a gigantic, greasy burger. Do you know a place?”
He grins at me. “I know the perfect place.”
Gideon takes me to a late-night diner, and we order two burgers with all the trimmings. We eat our meal with burger juices running down our fingers and it’s one of the most delicious dinners I’ve tasted in a long while.
We’re walking back to the car, the smell of tree blossoms wrapping softly around us, when I say half jokingly, “We should find a way to get back at Tess.”
To my surprise, Gideon is in immediate agreement. “She should definitely pay for setting us up so we’d have such a disastrous first date.”
“Agreed,” I murmur. “We need something that will really throw her.”
But part of me is remembering how eager Tess was for Gideon and me to get together. She kept pushing me to give him a chance. Why then would she want to sabotage us? It doesn’t make sense, especially considering how adept I am at self-sabotage. The uncomfortable truth is, she should have left it up to me. No doubt I would have found a way to ruin this evening all on my own.
Abruptly, Gideon stops walking. His eyes lock on mine. “If you really want to mess with Tess, I have an idea.”