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“I don’t know if I have a favorite food. Style, maybe. I love French food, and good Italian.”
“Can you cook Italian as well as you cook French?”
“I guess. Carla, our personal chef, showed me a lot of dishes. Her family owned a few restaurants in Northern Italy before she came over.”
“Okay, so let me rephrase the question. What is your favorite food to cook?”
“That’s a good question,” he murmurs as he picks up the bottle of wine out of the chiller. “I like making pasta. Tastes so much better fresh than store bought.”
“Holy shit, you know how to make pasta?”I ask, ecstatic at the prospect of fresh ravioli or lasagna.
“When we get home, I’ll make you whatever you want.”
“I can’t get over the fact that you can cook! Homemade pasta would be amazing. Evan, that prick, wouldn’t lift a finger, even if it meant he would starve. I did everything. I was often referred to by my friends as a Stepford wife.”
A frown crosses his face briefly. Shaking it off, he says, “For you, anything.” Bringing my hand up to his mouth, he places a feather-light kiss to the back of it.
Brayden appears with our entrées, placing them on the table in front of us. “Let me know if you need anything else.” He smiles at me as he speaks, ignoring Chase.
/> “Yes, we will. Thank you,” Chase says, dismissing him. Brayden nods and walks away.
“Wow, this looks amazing,” I murmur with the excitement of a child.
“Wait till you taste it.” He smiles at me as he picks up his fork and digs in.
“Mmm,” is all I manage to say.
“Here,” Chase thrusts a fork full of lobster in my direction. I open my mouth and he slides it across my lips. “What do you think?” he whispers seductively.
“Wow. This is so good.”
After we finish eating, Chase pays the check and we walk hand in hand out of the restaurant. “C’mon, I have another surprise for you,” he says, heading northeast down Simonton street. “Where are we going?” I ask, genuinely intrigued.
“So impatient,” he admonishes. “You will have to wait and see.” He squeezes my hand.
Chase turns us left down Greene Street, one of the main drags across the Key. The streets are packed and we weave in between groups, Chase never letting go of my hand.
A right on Fitzpatrick, which turns into Tifts Street once you cross Front street, then a left on Wall street—where is he taking me?
“We’re here,” he says, answering my unspoken question.
“Where is here?”
“Mallory Square.” He leads me down a stone path to the water. The square is bustling with tourists from the cruise ships docked not too far from here. “This is the best view of the sunset, and I wanted to share that with you.” He spins me toward him and places a gentle kiss on my lips.
Looking up at him, I whisper, “It’s beautiful.”
“There’s more, watch.”
There are people gathered in groups up and down the dock, watching flame-tossing jugglers, a sword swallower, tightrope walkers, an exotic trained bird show, and Golden Elvis with his sidekick, Silver Man. A man starts playing the bagpipes and people immediately join into the show, singing along.
Over a small footbridge next to us, the acts continue. “Some of the most intriguing and locally famous acts, such as Dominique and His Flying House Cats, perform here,” Chase murmurs. It’s like a giant circus without the tent.
Food vendors who have set up booths offering home-made goodies surround the area, and a lady squawks slogans in perfect rhyme to promote her cookies. It’s outrageous. I stand and watch in awe.
Hand in hand, Chase and I thread ourselves through the crowd to get a better view of the sunset. Nearing the edge of the dock, he stands behind me with his hands around my waist and chin resting on my right shoulder. Standing in complete silence, we watch the tangerine sun sink lower and lower, dipping down into the water, painting the sky in magnificent hues of fiery red and crimson. The water gleams in the last rays of the dying sun and as cool as the air becomes, I stay warm in Chase’s loving arms.
When it’s over, I turn to face Chase. “This has to be the best day I have ever had. Thank you.” I put my arms around his neck, lean up, and kiss him. He returns the kiss with fervor, nipping on my bottom lip. I groan low in my throat.
