“Hm? Yes,” I say, quickly straightening up.
“I was told you have an intolerance, so I took the liberty to create a special blend of flour, all of it gluten-free.”
I blink, looking over at Jordan, who is swirling a glass of wine and sniffing it, completely ignorant of my inner thoughts andhow much I want to jump his bones right now for something as trivial as remembering my food preferences.
“Thank you so much,” I say, facing the chef again. “I appreciate it.”
“No problem.”
Jordan takes a sip of his wine and cringes. My laugh startles him and he schools his expression, handing the wine to me. “Do you want to try it?”
“I want to know why you made that face,” I say, taking it from him and taking a sip. Jordan watches me intently the whole time and frowns when I place the glass on the table.
“It tastes like chalk,” he whispers, looking around to make sure Chef Roman doesn’t hear him. I laugh and grab his hand in mine, running my thumb over his knuckles.
“It’s a dry red wine, of course it tastes like chalk. Do you want to ask for something else?”
“No, I’m good,” he says, shrugging it off. “I’m not a big drinker anyway since it doesn’t mix well with my medication.”
I squeeze his fingers and he gives me a smile, one meant just for me. One that says,I have a thousand things I want to experience with you.
“Okay. Ready to make some delicious herb and cheese ravioli?”
“So ready,” he says, leaning in and kissing my forehead.
We start by mixing the flour with water, oil, and an egg, making sure it’s ready to knead. I pull my two rings off, realizing at the last second that I don’t have pockets in this dress. Jordan holds his hand out and I place them in his palm. I expect him to put them in the pocket of his jeans, but instead, he pulls his silver necklace out and unclasps it, adding my rings to it before refastening it behind his neck.
I smile at him and kiss his bicep, since that’s all I can reach. I dig my hands in the dough just to have something to do. Just soI don’t grab him and make out with him in front of the people in this class.
I try to move a strand of my hair with my shoulder, and when that doesn’t work, I try to blow it away from my face. Jordan’s hand reaches out and tucks the hair behind my ear. Leaning in, he says, “Want me to take over now?”
“Sure, my arms could use a break,” I say, laughing. Jordan’s hands come down on top of mine and he has us both kneading the dough once, twice, until Chef Roman’s next instruction breaks us out of it. I pull my hands away and grab the glass of wine, taking a few sips.
Jordan’s shoulder touches mine as he puts all his power into it. When he picks up the rolling pin and lifts his sleeves even higher up his forearms, I have to cross my legs where I stand. How am I going to make it through dinner when I can barely make it through this class?
By the timethe dessert comes out, all I can think about is Jordan’s hands on me. Not only did he look sexy as hell rolling out the ravioli, but he continued to be the perfect date, pulling out my chair in the restaurant, holding my hand as we talked about the most random, trivial things.
“What do you want for Christmas?” he asks out of the blue, as he takes a bite of the gluten-free tiramisu.
I take my time answering, sipping on the dessert wine I ordered. I’m a little tipsy and I’m sure it shows as I’ve been giggling and smiling nonstop. “I don’t need anything, J.” He raises a thick dark eyebrow at me, and I roll my eyes. “I mean it.I have all the books I need, my release date is set, I’m happy with all I have,” I shrug.
“I’m sure you can think of something,” he says, licking cocoa powder from the corner of his lips.
“A bigger place to live? I truly don’t know,” I say.
“Why a bigger place?”
I grab his hand and steal his next bite of tiramisu, relishing in the way his eyes track my lips as they wrap around the spoon. When I lean back in my chair, I say, “I like the apartment, but I’m running out of space for bookshelves. And it would be nice to have an office and a desktop to use for writing.”
“Okay,” he says, watching me intently as he polishes off the last bite.
“What about you? What do you want for Christmas?”
His response is immediate, and it makes me crack up. “A PS5,” he says.
“Okay, nerd.” I smile and run my foot up the inside of his leg under the table. Jordan chokes on his water, flustered. He grabs my ankle with a firm hand and rubs at the exposed skin.
The waitress comes over to clear the rest of the plates and I grin as Jordan looks everywhere but at me. “Can I get you two anything else?” she asks.
