Page 26 of Tackle

“What did you want to do?”

“Pardon?” He glanced at her startled.

“You said, football wouldn’t be the first thing young Oz would pick. What did you dream of doing?”

He hesitated, reluctant to tell her as it was so far removed from what he did now. “Architecture.” As a boy he’d always loved to create structures be it out of popsicle sticks and glue or the rare Lego set he’d get for Christmas. “It’s what I got my degree in.” And a passion he’d been dabbling in. Renovating and restoring old homes, trying to make a name for himself in the business for when he was ready to hang up his pads.

A touch hit his thigh and he glanced down to see her hand resting there. He’d like to say seeing it so close to his dick had no impact, but that would be a lie. It also brought his thoughts full circle.

Pulling his mind fromthat,he cleared his throat and said, “Your turn. Tell me something.”

Sadly, she removed her hand from his thigh and got comfortable in her seat. “Let’s see. You already know my dream of opening a pub, but what you don’t know is I first envisioned The Parting Glass as a traditional Irish pub.”

He glanced over. “Really?”

She gave a short nod. “It was quite by accident that I stumbled upon the idea to mash-up the two cultures. Of course, it was later that I got the inspiration to focus on burgers, but I wouldn’t have gotten that idea without my little accident.”

His brow furrowed. “What kind of accident?”

“Not the bad kind,” she was quick to point out. “Well, my da did comment about the wee mess I made in the kitchen.” She chuckled and he looked over again, smiling at her use of an Irish accent.

They’d reached the restaurant and he turned off the car but didn’t make a move to get out. Instead, he twisted in his seat to hear the rest of her story.

“I was trying to recreate one of my gran’s recipes. The problem was, a good portion of it was written in Irish Gaelic. Something got lost in the translation. Dad said what I’d made was good, but it wasn’t his mom’s famous potato candy. I rushed to show him the recipe card and he smiled and held back a chuckle while kindly explaining I’d mixed the peanut butter into the potatoes instead of spreading it over the top and rolling it to form a pinwheel.” She smirked. “I essentially made peanut butter cookies using potatoes instead of flour. But it’d got me thinking, what else could Imashwith the mash?” She smirked again at her joke and shrugged. “Turned out, a lot of things.”

The sun was setting behind them, casting her expression in mostly shadows but he could see from the soft quality of her eyes and slightly upturned lips that she was happy. Hell, he was happy. He wasn’t used to sharing, mostly because having someone to share with was unfamiliar ground, but he found he liked it.

Or maybe what he liked was just all Emerson.

Chapter Ten

Chevalier's had been around for as long as Emerson could remember. A high-end French restaurant, it was one of those places people went to see and be seen.

“Wow, this place is amazing.” Emerson tried not to gape as they stepped through the door.

Oz placed a hand at the low of her back and dipped his head to speak close to her ear. “I’m glad I wore my best suit.”

“Have you ever been here?”

He shook his head. “My buddy, Linc, told me about it.”

They were shown to an elegant table set for two, and after less than a minute of sitting, Oz started to squirm.

“Everything okay?” Emerson asked from over the top of her menu.

He grimaced. “You’d think for such a fancy place, they could afford larger chairs.”

“Because it’s a fancy place I think they are more worried about aesthetics over comfort. Do you want to see if we can move to one of the booths?”

“No. I hate causing scenes.” He fidgeted again and Emerson felt for the guy.

Though not the most comfortable chair in the world, Emerson wasn’tuncomfortablein hers. But then again, she was also a good hundred pounds lighter than Oz. “Asking to move is not causing a scene. And if you’re uncomfortable…”

He gave her a weak smile from across the table. “It’s not that bad. Besides, those booths look even more cramped.”

But she couldn’t let it go, and after another full minute, with him fidgeting and flipping back and forth through menu pages, she set hers aside.

“Did you decide what you want?” Oz asked with forced cheer, eyeing her over the top of his menu.

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