Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
EMILY
Pulling my hand back from his, I place it in my lap with my napkin, twisting the fabric between my fingers. I don’t know what to say. Not only did he just call me pretty, but he also ordered enough food for a whole week.
I don’t know what to do.
Pressing my lips together, I stare at my fingers as they worry the napkin.
A noise diverts my attention, and I lift my gaze to see what it is.
It’s the waiter setting down a gigantic plate of appetizers.
I didn’t really look at the menu, so when Baylor ordered a trio, I didn’t know exactly what it was.
Holy. Shit.
It’s not just a trio… it is the trio—mozzarella sticks, fried pickles, and onion rings. The three most amazing food groups ever. Cheese, pickles, and onions… fried. And not only are they fried, but there is also a trio of sauces—BBQ, ranch, and white queso.
Holy freaking shit.
The waiter leaves, though not before he asks if we need anything else. My eyes and attention are so fixed on the damn food I can’t look up. I don’t remember the last time I ate anything like this. It’s been months, lots of them.
The bar where I work has some appetizers, but nothing that looks like this. Ours, embarrassingly, come from freezer packages that the cook just flash-fries before he throws them onto a plate, and I wouldn’t really call him a cook.
“Want me to have them sent back since it’s too much?” Baylor asks.
My eyes snap up to meet his before my brows knit together. He’s smiling at me. A shit-eating grin. Asshole. And then my lips curve up into my own smile, because I can’t help but smile at him.
My heart starts to race, not out of fear or anything else except one thing. Desire. I want him right now. The smile, the way his eyes glitter when he stares at me from across the table. I want to climb across the table and kiss him, but only after I’ve had some amazing fried food.
All the food.
“No way,” I hiss. He chuckles, and I can’t help but smile again. “It looks too amazing to send back.”
“Are you gonna bitch about the food?”
I shrug a shoulder. “Probably. You ordered enough for an army, and it’s really expensive. You already fixed my sink, and now you’re taking me out to this meal. I will never be able to repay you, Baylor.”
“Don’t need you to, Em. A smile is all I need.”
“Baylor,” I whisper, “this is too much.”
When he looks at me, I can see the underlying pity in his gaze.
I try to look away from it, but I can’t.
I wish I could look anywhere else, that he would show me anything else—that he would look at me with any other expression—but I’ll take what I can get.
If it’s pity, then that’s what it is. At least he’s looking at me.
“Just eat, Emily.”
And so I do. I reach for one of each: a fried pickle, a mozzarella stick, and an onion ring. Baylor takes three of each. The sight makes me smile for some reason. He’s a man, a working man, and he has worked up an appetite, which is hot as shit.
I can’t decide which one to start with, so I go with the one that isn’t my absolute favorite.
The onion ring. I love a good onion ring, but cheese and pickles will always beat out onion.
So that’s where I start. What I don’t see is the way he looks at me while I’m eating said onion ring, then the fried pickle, and finally savoring the mozzarella stick.