Page 31 of Fire and Icing

Dustin chuckles. “It’s my pleasure.” He pulls a large brown paper bag out from behind his back. “I brought food. Did you eat yet?”

“Um. No. I didn’t. I ran errands after closing and then came back here to meet you. I forgot to grab something.”

“Forgetting to eat? Man. I wonder what that’s even like.” He grins a boyish grin.

I don’t have to stretch my mind to imagine what he must have been like as a boy. Trouble, definitely trouble. But always laughing and entertaining everyone around him. I bet he was a handful.

“I got a few things,” he says. “I didn’t know what you’d like.”

Dustin sets the bag on one of the tables along the front windows and pulls it open. Then he starts pulling out to-go containers one by one.

“Let’s see. We’ve got salad. I got Caesar and this other field greens one in case you don’t like Caesar.” He pulls out two more containers. “Then I got the pasta. It looked too good to pass up. Did you know they make the sauces from scratch? I could smell it when I walked in. So, here’s today’s pasta. Still hot.” He sets the round tin on the table.

Condensation fills the clear plastic lid, but I can see it’s Gino’s fettuccine alfredo with chicken. My mouth might be watering.

“And then, in case you’re not a fan of pasta, I also got the Monte Cristo sandwich.”

“For the two of us?” I survey the array of containers on the table.

“And tiramisu … with two forks,” he adds, not even flinching over the fact that the food spread out on one of my bistro tables could feed a small family.

Dustin pulls the cream dessert box with Gino’s logo on it out of the bottom of the bag and then produces two forks, holding them up and smiling at me.

“So? What sounds good?”

“Uhhh …” I stammer. “All of it?”

“That’s what I thought!” He chuckles and pulls out a seat. I think he’s going to plop down and dig in, but he steps back, holding my bewildered gaze and smiling that smile—the one apparently no one can resist, not even me, tonight.

I step in front of him, avoiding eye contact. The air around him is warm. I sit quickly, and before I can take over to help myself, Dustin pushes the chair in, taking his place across from me as soon as I’m settled. He looks like a parent on back to school night, trying to fit into the child-sized chairs in the classroom.

“Is that chair okay?” I ask.

He looks down at the legs and back up at me. “Seems to be.”

“I meant, are you comfortable?”

“I’m good. Just hungry.” He cracks open the salads and announces, “Let’s eat.”

“Should I get some plates or bowls or something?”

“Nah.” He looks up at me. Boyish. Manly. A strange mix of both. “I mean, if you want to eat on plates, we can.”

“Give me a minute,” I say, standing to grab some proper plates and silverware.

I feel Dustin’s eyes on me as I slip behind the counter and then return to the table.

When was the last time I ate a meal with a man?

Too long ago to remember, that’s for sure.

This isn’t that. This is business. Plain and simple. That’s why we need rules. Lots of rules. Strong ones.

“So, I called you here to set up some rules,” I say, maybe as much to myself as to him.

Dustin grins across the table at me. He reaches over and I nearly flinch. This only makes him smile more.

“Give me those,” he says. “Please.”

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