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When I bite into the taco, I close my eyes to savor the explosion of flavors on my tongue. After eating in the finest restaurants New York has to offer, I'm not easy to impress. But this is the best fish taco I've ever tasted.
"This is amazing,” I tell him. “Please give my compliments to the chef."
The corner of his mouth lifts up. It's the first hint of a genuine smile I've seen tonight. "I'd better not. His head is big enough already."
As we eat our tacos, we watch the sunset in silence. That part alone isn't unusual. But the silence feels different tonight. Heavy.
"Tuck…" I hate that my voice sounds so unsure, so needy. "What's wrong?"
He frowns. "What do you mean?"
"You seem…different."
He runs a hand through his thick hair. "I've never been good at this," he grumbles.
"Good at what?"
He gestures to the picnic around us. "Putting the moves on a woman."
I blink in surprise. "Is that what this is?"
He raises an eyebrow. "The wine didn't give it away?"
"Well, yes…but…I'm a little confused because…you seem upset with me?"
"I'm not." His voice is husky. He scoots toward me, reaching a tentative hand toward my face. "May I?"
I nod, unsure what I'm giving permission for, but more than happy to give it.
"I've wanted to touch you since the moment I saw you." His hand grazes along my jaw, then brushes my short hair away from my face. His fingers have traced only a few inches of skin, but my whole body flushes with heat.
I lean forward, instinctively, drawn toward him as if pulled by a string. "But why today?"
"Hmmm?"
"You've wanted to touch me…?"
"Yeah," he murmurs, cupping my face in both hands. "More than anything."
"Why did you wait until now?" My voice is a whisper.
He's quiet for a long time. The sun dips below the horizon, leaving the roof dark with shadows. I shiver, but whether from the cold or from his touch on my face, I'm not sure.
"I see you brought your own sweatshirt tonight," he says quietly, as if reading my mind.
I smile. "Your sweatshirt," I remind him.
He shakes his head. "It's yours if you want it."
"Tuck…"
"Yes?"
I tilt my face up to his. "What's different about tonight?"
He opens his mouth to speak but closes it again. Finally, he says, "I'm afraid it'll come out wrong.”
"Tell me. Please." I'm ashamed to beg, but I need to know.
