Dishing Up Love

Yet, when she spins again, this time to lean her back against the freezer as if the weight of the world is on her shoulders, all the lively animation gone from her limbs, it’s not lust that makes me take a step toward her. It’s the urge to comfort her and take every ounce of whatever is bothering her away so she can stand up tall again.

She must tell the person goodbye—I’m still too far away to hear the sound of her voice—because a small smile crosses her beautiful face before she hangs up and tosses her phone into her bag. When she stands up straight, taking steps toward me but not looking up as she reads the pizza box, my body leaps into motion of its own accord.

Sweat breaks out on the back of my neck, and the hair on my arms stand on end as we near, adrenaline making its presence known. I usually get a little zing of excitement and anticipation whenever I’m about to approach a target, but never anything close to this pulse-racing, almost jittery feeling I have right now. I feel like a fucking teenager about to ask his crush to prom. What the hell is wrong with me?

I’m so into this unfamiliar feeling that I don’t realize just how close I’ve gotten to her. And when I stop in the middle of the aisle to say my usual opening line, nothing comes out, and since she’s still looking down reading the pizza box, she doesn’t see the idiot human roadblock until it’s too late. She runs right into me, the pizza getting smashed between us, as she gasps. From the coldness of the frozen dinner now pressed against the nipples I was imagining only moments ago, or from running into me, or from the group of several people holding cameras and microphones surrounding us, or from—and I like this option the most—finding me incredibly attractive as she looks up into my eyes with shock, or a combination of all of them, I have no idea.

All I know is she’s got the most beautiful, unique eyes I’ve ever seen. I supposed one would call them green if they were being general, but up this close, they’re pure gold. Not just flecks throughout the irises, no. They’re solid gold, with a dark ring around the outside, keeping the gorgeous color contained as it surrounds pupils I watch with fascination as they dilate when she seems to recognize my face.

“Oh hell,” she breathes, and then those golden eyes peer around me, spot the crew, and then glance down at herself as one hand lifts to pat her messy hair. “Ah fuck,” she murmurs even quieter, so low only I can hear.

“I…” I start, but then I can’t help but chuckle at her potty mouth. When her eyes shoot to mine, with both an annoyed and worried look, I give her my best, winning smile. “I’m Chef Curtis—”

“Curtis Rockwell. And you want me to take you home,” she cuts me off and finishes my line.

You have no idea, dollface.

I grin widely. “I take it you watch my show.”

“I do. You come on right before my best friend and her husband’s show,” she replies, surprising me.

My eyes widen, and I turn my head with a shocked face toward Carlos, who is filming the entire exchange. “Well. This… this is new.” I glance back down at her, still so very close, as if it hasn’t occurred to her to take a step back. It occurred to me… but I just didn’t wanna. “Small world. I’m good friends with Dean Savageman, host of No Trespassing here on The Adventure Channel.” I wink over my shoulder at the rolling camera.

“Yeah. Crazy.” Her small voice pulls my attention back to her. “Ummm… I’m probably not the best candidate though. I’m just grabbing something quick for myself to eat while I watch their newest episode airing tonight.” She shrugs.

And that’s my cue. A genius idea hits me.

“Actually, you’re perfect.” Her eyes meet mine, her breath catching at my words. I clear my throat and continue, pushing aside the way that look makes me feel. “Oh, first, what’s your name?”

“Erin.” She shifts from one foot to the other.

“Why shouldn’t you eat like a queen, even if you were planning to eat alone, Erin? I can help you prepare something quick and simple yet delicious, while making it a meal for one.”

She nervously bites her lip, clearly thinking about my offer. Finally, the tension in her stance releases a bit as she visibly gives in. “What the hell. YOLO, right?”

I smile genuinely, knowing I get to spend the next several hours with the beauty still so close I can smell her floral perfume. “Right, exactly. YOLO. You only live once, and what better place to exercise that way of thinking than in New Orleans?”