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He merely nods and presses another kiss to my cheek. Then, Sam finishes pouring each of us a glass, and hands me a stem. Sipping at my drink, I find my gas lighter and a couple of white candles. I place the candles on the table and add flame, and then turn off the overhead lights. Immediately, the mood in my apartment shifts to something more intimate and romantic.
Just like the other times when I’ve had him over, there’s no special occasion for this dinner. That’s why I’m dressed in yoga pants and a spaghetti strap top, and he’s in just jeans and a gray button down. (Though, of course, Sam looks like he could’ve stepped off the cover of some romance novel with his ripped build.)
Then, I take my phone out of my pocket and let my playlist start on shuffle. Most of the music I adore is folksy, acoustic, and dark. The songs I love the most are full of emotion and raw, trembling voices as the singer pines for lost love or a missed opportunity. Getting into the mood, I give Sam an exaggerated frown. Then, I take a wooden spoon from the utensil holder and use it to sing along to the dramatic lyrics, twirling about with my wine glass in one hand. When it gets to the second verse, I do a shimmy and then jab the spoon into the mashed potatoes.
He laughs as he watches. “I love when you sing, baby.”
“Well, I love singing for you,” I wink. Then, I pick up the knife and start to cut the meat into strips. As expected, the steak is pink and juicy. The moment we bite into it, juices flow into my mouth and I let out a gasp of appreciation.
“This is so good,” I moan. “Incredible, if I do say so myself.”
He nods while chewing.
“Absolutely, honey. You’re a talented chef. But angel, I was serious. Your voice is incredible, and you’re good enough to be on Spotify.”
I bat my lashes at him.
“Flattery, my love, will get you everywhere.” Then I serve him some creamed corn before helping myself to a generous portion. When I finally look up again, he’s watching me, and I know he’s waiting for me to say more.
I blush and reach for the mashed potatoes. I start spooning the thick, fluffy potatoes onto our plates so I can focus on something that isn’t his curious gaze. “To be honest, I’d love to hear my own voice on the radio or on Spotify or something. I actually have a Soundcloud account, but I haven’t posted anything on there in months. It’d be nice to land a recording contract or the like, but I know how difficult that is.”
Sam nods and merely chews.
“Is singing your dream?”
I shrug and smile. “It used to be. Obviously, things haven’t really worked out for me yet, so it’s just a hobby for now. Other than my very tiny online presence, I do gigs at local bars a few times a month. My main job is bussing tables and bartending at the Salty Lagoon, as you know.”
I hold my breath, bracing for him to say something clichéd like “Oh, you’ve got to keep going,” or “If it’s your passion then you should fight for it.” I hate when people make me feel guilty for not pursuing my art harder. What those people don’t get is that it’s not that easy because a girl’s got to pay her bills! Besides, I’ve got other things going on, like this wonderful man.
But Sam surprises me by saying, “I don’t think there’s anything wrong with taking things slow.”
I look up at him. “You really don’t think so?”
He smiles and shakes his head. “Considering the way you seduced me when we started dating, I never would have taken you for the slow and steady type, but you always surprise me, Jess.”
“Oh my god!” I say, kicking him gently under the table.
He snickers a bit, before going serious.
“But honestly honey, you don’t have to be embarrassed to talk about your hopes and dreams for your singing career. I’ve been exactly where you are. It took me forever to put myself through those dang EMT classes, and there were still bills to pay on top of that. After you’re in a good place, then focus on your dreams.” He sips his wine. His blue eyes are gorgeous in the candlelight.
I nod. “Thanks, Sam.”
“Don’t mention it.” He takes a bite of steak, and his eyes almost roll back in his head as he chews. “Fucking hell, Jessa. This is so delicious.”
“Isn’t it?” I dance in my seat. “I think it’s even better than the last ribeye I made.”
He nods eagerly and swallows another bite. “I think I take back what I said before. If you bartend half as well as you cook, you could make a killing.”
