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“I should’ve taken you out to dinner first,” he laughed, dropping the fork. “Before I took you to dinner.”
“Sorry,” I apologized. “I missed breakfast, and my lunch literally dropped out of a vending machine.”
“Ugh.”
‘Yeah, totally.”
As it turned out, cooking together was a lot more romantic than I ever thought it could be. Not surprisingly, I was enjoying myself immensely. Especially with Donovan standing behind me, laying his hand over mine, helping me chop and mince things. We were flirting like mad. Feeding each other random ingredients, and generally goofing off… much to the dismay of the instructor, Jenny.
“You’re going to burn your grits,” Jenny warned. “If you’re not—”
“Can you actually burn grits?” someone asked from the other cooking station.
Half the class laughed, while the other went on stirring. Eventually we were left with two steaming plates of creamy white grits, topped with plump, tender shrimp. Donovan shook his head in disbelief as I handed him a clean fork.
“You’ve never had grits before, have you?”
“No ma’am,” he admitted.
“They taste like whatever you put on them,” I explained. “Sort of like pasta.”
“Is that your genuine Texan opinion?”
“That’s just plain old fact,?
?? I replied.
We fed each other some more, like the bride and groom at a wedding. And although Jenny wasn’t all that amused, our behavior did elicit a few nods and smiles. It was obvious to just about everyone that we were on a first date.
“Dessert,” Jenny exclaimed, “is dangerous. So we need to treat it seriously.”
Donovan burst out laughing. His laughter triggered mine, and soon we were clutching each other… like two high school kids in the back of a class, about to get in trouble.
“You’re gonna get us detention!” I warned. “Cut it out!”
“No, you cut it out,” Donovan smirked. Pulling his fork back, he flicked grits on me.
Jenny gave us the death stare. The one that said “seriously?” without her having to say anything at all, and so we eventually calmed down.
Humorously enough dessert actually was dangerous: New Orleans’ style Bananas Foster prepared with two types of flaming liqueur. Ours was a controlled burn though, and it turned out the real culprit was the couple on the other side of the room. As they sent flames a good five feet into the air, Jenny abandoned all interest in us and rushed over.
A shiver ran down one side of my body as Donovan leaned in, taking my hand in his. He helped me dribble the melted, caramelized mixture into the serving dish, where is sizzled and bubbled and created a frothy white cream.
“Are you really gonna eat this?” I asked incredulously. “I mean, butter, brown sugar, vanilla ice cream… the whole thing must be about a zillion calories.”
Donovan lifted the first spoonful of melty, sugary goodness to his mouth. “It’s my cheat day,” he explained. “For six days I’m meticulous about everything I put into my body, down to the last calorie. But on Saturdays?” he shrugged. “I’d eat a whole box of donuts if I wanted to.”
While eating a whole box of donuts didn’t sound too appealing, I had to admire his discipline. I guess it was easier to starve yourself all week when there was a really bright light at the end of the tunnel.
“What about you?” Donovan asked. He swung a fresh spoon of deliciousness my way. “Are you going to eat this in front of your personal trainer?” He smirked and raised an eyebrow. “Knowing that he’s going to ask you if you were good when you come to your workout on Monday?”
I locked eyes with him. A thousand thoughts passed between us, wordlessly, as I parted my lips and accepted his offering.
“It better be worth it,” Donovan sighed, still holding my gaze.
“Oh it is,” I smirked back, not sure we were talking about Bananas Foster anymore. The distraction of his handsome face, sexy stubble and all, prevented me from fully enjoying the decadent dessert.
But as long as he held me with those crystal blue eyes, I didn’t care.
