Page 26 of The Situation
His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows, his eyes glued to my mouth as I chew. Other diners and staff surround us, but they all fade into the background. The moment is wildly intimate. I’m stripped of everything—my clothes, walls, and excuses. And instead of being uncomfortable, self-conscious, or overthinking like usual, I feel powerful.
Tate is reacting like this to me. Wow.
“How did it taste?” he asks, a smirk playing against his lips.
“Warmer than I anticipated and not as salty.”
He sits back, amused.
I laugh. “It was good. Very interesting flavor, but I like it.”
“Did you know that the flavor of oysters is predetermined by where it’s harvested?” he asks.
“No. How do you know that?”
“One of my brothers worked in Australia for a while. I visited him, and we learned a lot of things late one night at an oyster bar.”
“Did any of those things require an antibiotic?”
He laughs, his eyes twinkling. “Fortunately, no.”
“Excellent. So aside from sketchy interactions with shellfish, what else do you do for fun?”
Tate places some carpaccio on his plate. I take a few options from the charcuterie instead.
“What do I do for fun?” he asks, repeating my question. “Honestly, when I’m not working, I like to be home. Most of my friends are married or getting married, so I’m kind of the lone ranger of the group.” He takes a bite of his food. “I’m learning to be the fun uncle instead of the fun friend. It’s a process.”
I spread some honey on a piece of cheese. “I like being at home, too. I love decorating, so I start at one end of my house and work through each room. Once I’m done, I return to the beginning and do it all over again. It can be an expensive hobby.”
“I’m terrible at decorating. I just put out a bunch of candles and call it quits.”
My eyes narrow suspiciously. There’s no way this guy has a closet full of candles, but I’ll give him credit for, once again, listening to what I said on the plane and using it to his advantage.
“What about you?” he asks, shifting in his chair. One sleeve pulls back just enough for me to glimpse his thick forearm. “What else do you do for fun?”
You, preferably.
“Oh, I don’t know,” I say, picking up a berry. “I like to cook, I guess. Nothing fancy. I’ll see a dish on television, grab the ingredients, and see if I can recreate it—usually with substitutions that ruin it.”
He smiles. “My girl Mimi likes to cook.”
Mimi?I nod as if a streak of jealousy didn’t just rip through me.
“Mimi is my brother’s wife’s grandmother,” he says, winking.
I chuckle, knowing damn good and well that he just noticed my reaction.Again.I wish that hadn’t happened, but it’s too late now.
Sean appears again with our entrées. I side-eye the appetizers that we’ve barely touched.
“You’re on it tonight, Sean,” Tate says as his steak is placed before him. “This looks great.”
“The kitchen is on it tonight,” Sean says, setting my chicken before me. “I’m just the deliveryman.”
“Well, you’re an excellent one,” I say. “This looks amazing. Thank you.”
“You’re very welcome. Can I get you anything else?”
Tate looks at me for approval.
