Page 36 of Well Played

Willow

Our Saturday nightdate arrives one hundred and fifty hours after the Park Run ended—not that I’ve been counting.

“These are for you.” Bronx shoves the enormous bunch of native flowers in my hands before his huge body jogs back down my front stairs.

“Thank you, they are lovely.” I call after him, adding, “We should do this again, sometime.” My laughter stops when he returns with a cake platter, bottle of red wine, and a shoe-sized box.

“Um, which are you least likely to drop?” I don’t know which one to take first.

“The cake took too long to buy it and I’ll never remember the online store again,” he sings offkey, butchering the words to a song my grandmother loved. “A broken bottle of wine is bad luck, and you’ll never know if the present is breakable or not until you open it.”

“It’s not my birthday and you’re killing Macarthur Park.”

“Consider it an early or late teacher appreciation day.”

“Do you appreciateallof Charlotte’s teachers?”

“Only the ones who offer me dinner if I bake a cake.” He sees my reaction and quickly adds, “And here is me proving I have no game.” He laughs with no hint of embarrassment. “I haven’t been on a first date since I was sixteen. I don’t have an online profile and I don’t know what to say when a beautiful woman has me tongue-tied with nerves and greets me looking the way you do.”

“I think you just proved you have more game than Cassanova.” I’m blushing and desperate not to trip on my way to the kitchen. “I only hope dinner lives up to the wine and cake.”

“Whatever you have cooking smells amazing.”

Meeting the man I’ve spent countless nights fantasizing over should feel awkward, but doesn’t. As Bronx sets everything down on my bench, I try not to ogle at his arm porn. Seriously, my hormones need to get a grip.

“I hope you like roasted stuffed red capsicum.” Steam billows out of the oven when I check on the first course. “Can you get the platter of antipasto from the refrigerator for me, please?”

“Yes, and yes.” Within seconds, Bronx works beside me in the kitchen as if we’re an experienced team, removing lids and arranging the platter; before building me a cracker, cheese, and prosciutto sandwich. “Mmm, you peeled the capsicum skin?”

“Of course. There’s something about holding a pepper to an open flame and watching it blister.”

“Die, capsicum, die.” He laughs and I love the way his face softens. “I know it takes longer, but it’s the only way Charlotte eats it.”

“And for main, we have poached salmon with asparagus and slow-baked potatoes.” Confident in the capsicum, I check the stove.

“All this for me? I’m honored.” He leans over to take in the aroma. “How did you make this sauce?”

Nervously, I offer him a spoon to taste.

“You know your sauces,” he says approvingly and threatens to double dip until I slap his hand away.

“And there’s a naughty corner over there waiting for you.”

“If I’m in the naughty corner, who’s going tocut your cake?”

OMG, is he throwing out innuendos? I can’t play this game, not with him. I’m already beyond nervous and want to scream to the world thatBronx Parker is in my kitchen wanting to cut my cake.

“Shall I open my gift now?” I need to say something, otherwise, I’ll stand here like a goofball and drown in his eyes.Someone pinch me. It’s as if I manifested the perfect man, then his daughter joined my class, and now he’s in my kitchen, about to eat my food.

“Hey, Willow,” he says, snapping me out of my daydream. “Where'd you go?”

“I was just thinking.” Damn, he’s going to think I’m a creeper.

“About?”

“Do you want me to be honest?” I’ve never been able to come up with a flirty redirect and the more he looks into my eyes, the less I can hide my feelings. What’s the worst he can do? Insist on taking his daughter out of my class? Get a restraining order?

“No, please lie to me.” Bronx’s laugh removes the sting from his words. “Lying is why my marriage survived for so many years.”

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