“It’s still there?”
“It is.”
He looked thoughtful. “You’ll have to show it to me sometime.”
The skin on the back of my neck felt hot. I prayed that my cheeks weren’t blushing, too. Because the idea of showing him the lemon tree made me think things that I shouldn’t be thinking.
I hoped he couldn’t tell.
Chapter 9
Quick, lemon tarts or lemon meringue?
I need something sweet to tide me over until I see you again.
“Favorite color?” he asked.
“Red. You know that.”
“I certainly do.” He winked at me, and I was glad he didn’t elaborate. America did not need to know about the time I’d given him a pair of my red underwear.
“What about you? What’s your favorite color?”
“It used to be green, but I’m more partial to red now.”
I turned my head slightly away from the camera because I was sure by now that I was definitely blushing.
He saved me from further embarrassment by asking another question. “Favorite way to spend your free time?”
“Watching old movies. You?”
He leaned back in his chair with one of his playful smiles. “Being with you.”
“Be serious.”
“You always think I’m not being serious. I am serious. I love being with you, and you are you, so it works out well for us to spend time together.”
For the nine billionth time, I reminded myself that he was just a flirt and a flatterer and it meant nothing.
My heart, unfortunately, was not on the bandwagon.
“Your turn to ask me a question.”
I shouldn’t have said it, and it was probably a clear indication of where my mind was. “Who was your first kiss?”
“Frederica Antonelli.” He pronounced it in that Italian way, rolling his Rs. “I was at boarding school and I was twelve. She kissed me, I’d like to state for the record. I was a helpless victim.”
“Oh please, I bet you were a charming heartbreaker even back then.”
“I don’t break hearts. I am very fond of hearts.”
Okay, now that definitely wasn’t true. It still made me smile, though.
He didn’t ask me about my first kiss. Probably because I’d already told him, and he didn’t seem keen on bringing the ghost of Sterling into this conversation.
Our waiter reemerged with a man who introduced himself as the restaurant’s sommelier, who said he wanted to recommend a wine based on our menu choices. Dante held up his hand. “We won’t be drinking tonight, thank you.”
From the expression on the poor sommelier’s face, it was like Dante had said, “We just murdered your entire family, thank you.” The waiter put his arm around the sommelier when they left. Like he was trying to cheer him up.
A few minutes and a few questions later, our food arrived. It smelled divine. “Should we?” Dante asked.
“We can’t. Nobody ever does.”
“What do you mean?”
“You constantly see dates on this show that involve food, but no one ever eats it.” I glanced over at the crew. “It looks like the couple are so busy talking that they just don’t have the time to eat, but I suspect it’s more that people don’t want to be caught on TV with a mouthful of food, or to end up with spinach stuck between their teeth. I know I don’t want to be filmed eating.”
He sat for a minute, looking at me. “That’s ridiculous. Life is to be enjoyed, and food is an essential part of that. It should be savored and eaten. Not just looked at. Quest two, begun.”
“Quest two?”
“Where you get to eat this delicious food before it gets cold without having it being filmed. Just follow my lead.”
He started mouthing words and paused. I caught on to what he was doing, so I mimicked him and it looked like we were having a conversation with no sound.
“Cut! Cut!” the director called frantically behind us. “Somebody go out to the van and get a fresh pair of mike packs! The batteries on those have died!”
“Eat fast,” Dante whispered before he shoveled a huge portion of salmon into his mouth.
“Doesn’t eating fast negate that whole ‘food should be savored’ thing?”