“Molly...” Rounding the table, he reached for her hand. “Baby, you don’t need to—”
“We’d been together for nine years by that point. We were newly married.” Her fingers were stiff against his. Cold. “I told myself I was overreacting. He eventually said he was sorry I didn’t enjoy his joke, and I allowed myself to take that as a real apology instead of the responsibility-dodging asshole statement it was. So... I stayed.”
With that explanation, some of her trust issues—with men, with herself, with everyone—became clearer.
“Not gonna feed you anything I know or suspect you won’t like. Won’t try to trick you.” A simple vow. Least of what she deserved, but he meant it with every ounce of his goddamn being. “Definitely not going to shove food in your face or make you choke. Most things, you can put in your own mouth.”
She nodded, looking down at their joined hands.
Gradually, her fingers curled around his. Warmed in his grip.
“You know...” she began, her words stronger. Louder.
“What?”
Her chin tipped high, and her expression had turned serene once more. “We had a five-tiered cake that fed well over three hundred guests. Volume-wise, it would never have fit down Rob’s throat. No matter how hard I shoved.”
Ah, there she was. His pedantic girl, back in nitpicking action.
“There’s a fucking will, there’s a fucking way.” With his free hand, he scratched his bristly chin in thought. “Could’ve pureed it.”
“I appreciate your creativity in the revenge-based arts, Dean. You’re a real pro.” A final squeeze, and she let him go and picked up the blindfold. “I assume you’re feeding me lunch after this?”
“Yep.” Inspired by his flavor-combo chats with Charlotte, he’d gotten his hands on a truffle and planned to shave that expensive-ass shit over a Brie-and-prosciutto grilled cheese.
“Then let’s get going.” She stretched the silk blindfold over her head. Settled it over her eyes. “The sooner we start, the sooner I feast.”
“Let’s do this,” he agreed, and uncovered the first mystery food.
12
Karl started easy, with foods Molly identified without much trouble. A strip of fresh mango speared on a fork, which he handed to her. A shard of crisp bacon on her plate, which she could easily locate and deliver to her waiting mouth. A generous spoonful of Nutella, unmistakable in flavor and texture, sweet enough for her tastes. He gave her the handle, and she did the rest.
When things got harder, though, he had to start talking.
A cube of marinated goat cheese stumped her first. “Is this... a savory cheesecake? With garlic and herbs?”
“No. Close, though.” When she struggled to find a different guess, he put a new cube on her spoon, pressed the handle into her palm, and let her register the flavor and texture. Then he asked, “What are you tasting, other than the herbs and garlic? Are there other notes?”
“There’s a tang.” She thought for a moment. “A bit of a citrusy taste.”
“Okay.” He could work with that. “You were partially right with your first guess. It’s a type of cheese. And what type of cheese can be soft and often has that kind of tang?”
Turned out, talking about food was way easier than most other subjects. Fucking handy.
“Canbe soft,” she repeated. “So not cream cheese, which ispretty much always soft. Is it... is this goat cheese? The most delicious goat cheese I’ve ever put in my mouth?”
He grinned, pleased with them both. “Yep.”
“I want the name of that brand before I leave here today.” She was smiling too. “Good job with the hints, Dean.”
His chest expanded, and his grin grew.
Karl fucking Dean, his brain announced.The best fucking communicator in the fucking universe!
He cleared his throat. Played it cool. “Good job figuring out my hints, Dearborn.”
After that, the sugar-dusted lemon drop only required one clue—“That sourness you’re tasting, where do you think it might come from? Vinegar, fruit, alcohol?”—and the thin slice of orange-caramel crunch scone didn’t take her more than five seconds. Turned out, she’d bought one last week. Did it on the down-low, because he wouldn’t’ve let her pay, and she knew it.
