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“How am I making you uncomfortable?” Jacob asks gently as he takes a pickle for himself.
The fire has gone out of me now that the pickle was worth tasting. If it had tasted like shit, our date would’ve been over. “You pressured me.”
“I apologize.” Without missing a beat, he turns the pickle basket so the other side is near me. “Try it with the sauce.”
What’s the point in refusing? I do like the pickles. He was right with that suggestion. Maybe I’ll like the sauce too. I grab another pickle and dip it into the orange sauce. The taste is creamy and slightly spicy and the two things go together so well it’s like they were made for each other.
“Why do you let your friends hook you up on dates with strangers?” he asks while I mull over the fact that I’ve missed out on this joy for so long.
“That’s… an incredibly personal question.”
“It’s… a date,” he says mimicking my dramatic pause. “We’re supposed to ask personal questions.”
I suppose that’s true, and I should answer him. “It’s not like I have some kind of fatal flaw. I’ve just never been in the right relationship.” I add in a shrug, keeping things light now that we’ve overcome our first couple obstacles. “My friends are trying to help.”
“By setting you up with strangers.”
“No! They normally aren’t complete strangers. They set me up with you quickly before you could…” Run into my brother and find out my fatal flaw. “Before you found someone else.”
He sighs and angrily munches a crunchy pickle. “I’m not looking for a relationship.”
A chuckle slips through my lips that have been loosened by my increasing buzz and the peace that’s starting to unfurl around us. “Of course not. You just got here. You probably haven’t even finished unpacking. No one wants to go on dates when they’ve just moved.”
“It’s not that. It’s… I don’t know how long I’ll be here. I didn’t even sign a full-year lease so I can leave whenever I need to. There are some people down here I don’t want to reconnect with, so I’m not planning on putting down permanent roots in this city.”
Pausing to digest his words, I decide not to broach the obviously touchy subject of the people from his past who he’s decided don’t belong in his future. “Where are you from?”
“Salt Lake City.”
My interest is instantly piqued. SLC is one of those places that’s close enough to be a road trip, but I’ve never visited. “What’s it like there?”
“It’s just like any other big city. More gray than this place though. It’s all concrete and steel. This place is the same, just in a different color.”
“That sounds so pretty!” I’d love to see another place, even if everything there is gray and concrete. I’m sure there’s more to it that he’s downplaying. Utah has mountains and snow, a lot more snow than we get here. “Is there anything fun to do there?”
Jacob leans back as the waitress approaches with our food and more drinks, and when she leaves again, he frowns at my salad, reminding me that he’s personally offended by salads.
“Why are you upset at my food?” I ask with a muffled giggle. How ridiculous is this man that he’s too macho for salad?
Tilting his head to one side, he examines my bowl more closely. “It looks sad,”
Sad? “Look how colorful it is! You were just talking about how plain cities are because they’re one color, but you don’t like my colorful salad?”
His eyes flip between my bowl and me, before he finally shakes his head. “It just doesn’t look like enough. See, look at what I have. A fully balanced meal. Steak for protein. Potatoes for vegetables. Butter for fat. Cheese for dairy. This is a meal. Yours is all vegetables.”
I can’t help but laugh at him. He sounds like my biker brother, instead of an urban office worker. “I’m not a bodybuilder. I don’t need all those carbs and protein. I’ve got salad and tomatoes for vegetables, chicken for protein, cheese for dairy, and dressing for fat. I’ve got the same things, just in a different order.”
He shakes his head. “Show me a piece of chicken.”
I roll my eyes, but I do as he’s asked. With my fork, I pick up a piece of chicken and hold it out to show him. “Chicken.”
“That’s the saddest piece of chicken I’ve ever seen. It’s pale. Where’s the flavor?”
“Jacob.”
He holds his hands up in surrender and lowers his head. “My apologies. No pressure. I don’t socialize. Sometimes I forget how.”
Chapter Three
Jacob
Brittany looks like a girl who knows how to eat, but acts like she’s afraid to eat. I can tell I’m making her uncomfortable again, so I decide to back off and take it easy. She made an effort to ask about my life and all I’ve done is critique her food, which is probably why she’s nervous about what she eats on dates- assholes like me mentioning it to her.
