She glanced his way, smiling at him, praying that he didn’t smell the sudden rush of desire that swept through her at the taste of his skin on her tongue. She didn’t plan to taste him, it just happened, and now she couldn’t get it out of her head, and her body was thundering in need.
“It is. Quite amazing. I know I’ve never ever smelled anything like it.”
“Middle Eastern food gives the best aroma,” she said, her voice shaky.
“Second best, it gives the second best,” Remi said, forcing himself to look away from her since she didn’t seem to want to address the flush of need that had suddenly taken over her every cell. He knew that his fingers touching her lips, and her tongue had been an accident, but she’d reacted just the same as though it had been intentional. If she thought he might have scented her, she could be embarrassed, and the last thing he wanted was to make her feel embarrassment of any kind.
“So, when we get to your place, we should hurry up and unload everything, so we can eat while it’s still hot,” Cristie said.
“I say you start unpacking the food and getting plates and forks and all, and I’ll start bringing everything in. We don’t have to put everything where it belongs tonight. The furniture won’t even be here for a couple of days still.”
“That’s a good plan. You always did make good plans,” she said, smiling at him.
~~~
Cristie pulled her car up as close as she could get to Remi’s front porch, and quickly got out. “Getting the food inside,” she said, gathering the three bags and preparing to go inside.
“You’ll need this,” Remi said, fishing the key out of his pocket. He leaned over the seats and held it out toward her.
Cristie shifted one of the bags and took the key from him. “See you inside.”
Remi watched her let herself into his house, then took his time getting all the bags out of the back seat and taking them inside and dropping them right inside the door before going back out and getting everything from in the trunk as well. Whenhe entered his house the second time, Cristie had laid out the meal on the coffee table, complete with tall glasses of ice waiting for the tea she was brewing in the kitchen. There were bowls and platters of food across the coffee table, with a plate for him on one side, and one for her on the other. Serving spoons sat tucked on each of the platters and large bowls, with forks and spoons for themselves on each plate. She’d even laid out several of the thick folded paper napkins Amir had included beside both of their plates.
“Wow, it’s a feast,” Remi said.
“It so is. We’re almost ready to start. I’ve got the tea steaming. I cheated a little. You’re supposed to pour boiling water over the tea leaves and let it steep for seven minutes before sweetening and pouring over ice. I didn’t want to wait that long. It’s in the microwave.”
Remi laughed. “I’d go microwave every time.”
The microwave pinged letting them know it was finished, and she half-danced to the kitchen like a school girl to get it. “I hope you love this tea. I love this tea. I always say that when I get my own place, I’m going to keep this in the fridge instead of the usual southern sweet iced tea.”
“Amir said it’s mint?” Remi asked, stealing a stuffed grape leaf and popping it into his mouth.
“It is, but it’s ever so subtle. You sweeten it with a touch of simple syrup, just a touch. And there’s something about when you pour it over ice and when you sip it, you get a little warmth from where it was brewed here and there, along with the chilled parts from the ice. It’s soooo good.”
“Well, stop telling me about it and let me try it,” he said, flopping down at his place at the coffee table.
“We’re sitting on the floor, like Persians did in the old timey movies,” she said as she poured steaming tea over the ice in his glass, then did the same for hers. She hurried back into thekitchen to put the hot tea pot on a pot holder, then back into the living room to take a seat in front of her plate.
“Okay, now what should I try?” he asked.
“The tea,” she said, sipping her own and softly moaning as its flavor and the two temperatures crossed her tongue.
He picked up the tea and sampled it hesitantly at first, then smiled at her as he took a longer drink and held it on his tongue. He swallowed and shook his head in disbelief. “This is so good. I think I need to keep this in my house, too.”
She smiled and started serving him from all the bowls and platters that held different foods. She unfolded a foil pouch and placed a piece of manakish bread beside the rest of his food, then started serving herself. “Don’t wait for me, dig in,” she said excitedly.
Remi took his time trying all of the dishes she’d served him, marveling at each new taste and texture. “You know how some people have pizza night, or taco night?”
“Yes,” she said, waiting for him to finish his thought.
“I need to have Middle Eastern food night.”
“Yep, every week.”
“No, at least a couple of times each week,” Remi said.
Cristie laughed, but nodded her agreement as she stuffed her mouth with Moussaka.
