A Date with a Foodie (The Dating 7)

I bump him with my shoulder. “We were young. You got busy and I focused on school.”

He looks down at me and I can see the genuineness on his face. “I thought about you often. Always wondering what you were up to. Looks like you did exactly what you said you were going to do.”

“I have,” I reply, happy with my life choices. I can sense sadness in him though. I picked up on it when we were in the café. “Are you not happy with your job?”

We stop at the railing and he leans over on his elbows. “Yes and no. I thought I was but now I’m having my doubts.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

He turns his body to me and shakes his head, his lips pulling back in a sad smile. “It’s not important.” His focus shifts to the ground. “You know what will make me happy though.”

“What?”

His twinkling blue eyes meet mine. “I’d love to have dinner at Maddy’s Tavern again. Think you can squeeze a reservation time in for me? I have no doubt you’re already booked.”

The thought of him wanting to come back makes me giddy with excitement. I shouldn’t feel this way because I know he’s leaving town soon. “I’ll be happy to get you in.”

“What’s on the specials menu tonight? The pork chops were out of this world.”

Gaze narrowed, I cross my arms over my chest. “Please tell me you’re being serious and not just using my restaurant as an excuse to see me again?” It’s a bold question but it leaves my lips before I can even take the words back. As much as I want him to want to eat at my restaurant, a part of me wishes it’s because he really wants to see me again.

He bursts out laughing. “No, I’m dying to eat your food, but it’s a plus that I get to see you in the process.”

“Okay,” I give in. “I believe you.” I already know what the special will be. My stomach growls just thinking about it. “Tonight, the special is a dry-aged ribeye with garlic mashed potatoes and roasted broccoli.”

Adam nods, looking impressed. “Nice. I’ll definitely be eating that. What about dessert?”

I’m in a chocolate mood. “I’m thinking chocolate mousse with fresh raspberries. Does that sound good?”

He steps closer to me. “Sounds delicious. It’ll be even better if you enjoy it with me. I can wait until everyone leaves if that works.”

His invitation is tempting. I don’t know what comes over me, but I have an idea. It’s been a long time since I’ve allowed myself to get excited over anything besides the restaurant. I like it. I can still be wild and free like I was in college, right? Why can’t I? I’m still young. Being thirty-five and single doesn’t mean I’m an old lady. Might as well live life to the fullest.

“You know what, I think that sounds like a great idea.”

His expression brightens. “So you’ll eat dessert with me?”

I nod. “I’ll do more than that. If you don’t mind coming in later, I’ll even eat dinner with you as well.”

A devilish smirk spreads across his face. “And after dinner and dessert, maybe we can talk some more?”

I want to say yes, but instead I just smile. “We’ll see how everything goes.”

The Taste of Chicago has always been a festival I planned to visit, but alas, timing. This year, I found myself with some extra time and when the invitation to judge this year’s pulled pork cook off arrived, it was too good to pass up.

Now, I find myself in a vibrant city, surrounded by some of the best blues music I’ve ever heard, and the food . . . It’s simply the best. There is nothing like sipping a nice brandy while listening to a masterful sax player.

But all the good, is sometimes met with the—well not so good—and that is the abstract restaurant called Voltage.

The name alone should’ve warned me, however, I like to keep an open mind, and at times I regret this.

I had high hopes for this restaurant, which should come with a warning label—no one over 25!

I’m torn whether to give you the good or bad first, which outweighs the former. I wish I could say I was greeted when I walked in—I wasn’t. I was told to sit, on a very narrow bench, while music thumped loudly around me. In this time, I checked the website to make sure I was at a restaurant and not a night club, and then I checked with my assistant to make sure she booked me a reservation.

She had, but it seemed a reservation to Voltage meant someone was coming for a table and doesn’t specify a time. Normally, I would leave and that would be the end of it for me. However, I was interested in the limited menu and was eager to try “Aunt V’s Buttermilk Fried Chicken.” Which, according to the website had been dubbed, “Chicago’s Best Homestyle Fave with a Twist.”