"No," Truett says, laughing. "No, it's fine. It's true. It's probably the truest thing I've heard in a while."
"Yeah? You don't hate me?"
"I don't hate you, no. Your Grandma Elsie made you that mac and cheese with love, and I guess you felt that with every bite you took."
"So this restaurant, where is it? Can I know the name?"
Truett nods slowly. "Yeah. It's called Perfect Pair. You heard of it?"
My eyes widen. "Really? You got us a table there?"
He chuckles. "Yeah, I pulled some strings, but–"
"But you're Truett Baker, so of course you got us a table there." I bite my bottom lip. "As far as I've heard, the waitlist is literally two years long. And you have to do a pre-interview to even get inside the restaurant. You have to pass a test of compatibility to even–"
He pulls up to a valet. His eyes lock with mine as he puts the car in park. It dawns on me.
"Oh, oh,” I say. “That's why you got a matchmaker. You wanted a date who would be your match for this dinner, not for, like–"
"Sir," the valet asks for his keys. Truett gets out of the car.
My car door is opened and I have to make a choice. Do I stay or do I go? If I stay, what does that even mean? I paid ten grand for this dinner. All the money I had to my name. Would Helena give me the names of the other two matches? I squeeze my eyes shut, taking a deep breath in, a deep breath out, hating that I feel like I've been played. But have I?
I step out of the car. Truett takes my hand. "Come on," he says. "Just give me a night, a night where we can pretend we're the perfect pair."
"Why?" I ask him. "Why should I do that? I actually want a match. I have reasons for that. I–"
"Okay. Then let me take you to dinner and you can tell me all about them."
"Really?" I say.
He nods. "Sure. I kind of played you into coming here, might as well be honest with you from here on out."
5
Truett
The moment I lay eyes on Story Cook, I know exactly what I'm so hungry for.
It's not just any old meal and it's just not any old thing. It's her and her alone. Yes, it might be a little intimidating or a little intense to declare something with such absolute intention, but I've always been pretty sure of myself. And when I want something, I go all the way in. Deep. Real fucking deep.
And her? Damn, she's what I want. I could screw this whole meal, forget about it, if it meant taking her somewhere quiet and having the pure pleasure of feasting on her.
She's all curves. Her hips are wide. Her tits are huge. Her smile is fucking perfect. Her lips are big and pouty. Her red lipstick is turning me all the way on, and her eyes sparkle like she knows something I don't, which I'm guessing is true.
She knows things that I'm dying to hear all about, like whether or not she's horny the same way I am. My cock aches, though I know it's not the time. Dinner is in fifteen minutes.
"What?" she asks, looking over her shoulder at me.
I hand the keys to the valet and shrug, running a hand over my jaw. I shake my head. "I was just thinking about how good your ass looks in that dress."
She giggles. "Really?"
And damn, the sound is sweet, better than the birds that chirp on Big Bear Mountain. And fuck, I need to get out more if the only thing I can compare her to is the bird songs out on the porch. It makes me chuckle, and her eyebrows raise.
"What?" she asks. “Tell me what you’re really thinking.” Her voice is more demanding this time and I like it, the idea that she isn’t scared to ask for what she wants. What she needs.
"I was just thinking I don't get out very often, and how nice it is to be here with you."
"Wow," she says. "You've said more since we got out of the car than in the entire ride to the restaurant."
"Sorry," I say. "I'm not exactly one for chit-chat."
"Yeah," she says, slowly. "I'm gathering that. What are you about then?"
"I'm kind of quiet," I tell her.
"Right. That whole mountain man thing, it's not just an act then, to get people into your restaurants and sell lots of cookbooks?"
I shake my head, reach for her hand. "No," I say. There's a spark when our hands brush. I lace my fingers with hers. "It's not an act."
Her head tilts toward mine and I don't back down. I stop there on the sidewalk and cup her cheek with my hand, and I draw her close, close enough to kiss. "Look, you don't know me besides what you probably read, and I don't know you except what Helena told me on the phone. But I'm hungry. Starved, really, and I want a good meal, but more than that, I fucking want you." She pulls in a breath and I lean in. "I want you, bad."