“So, tell me more about what it was like growing up on a farm.”

I take another drink and laugh. “I said garden, not a farm.”

“Same difference.”

“Well, us hick folk had to learn about the big city in textbooks, which, by the way, failed to mention what bad drivers you are.”

He chuckles, and it’s a warm and endearing sound that makes me want to lean closer. “If that’s your only complaint about the concrete jungle, I’d say you love it more than you’re letting on.”

“Oh, did you want me to continue? I thought we were trying to keep the negativity level to a minimum, but if you’d like me to list my grievances, I can give you a list. Alphabetical? Chronological?”

“Chronological? Is that organized by which you hate most?”

“I was actually going to go in order of which irritating trait I discovered first.”

“Traffic being the first?”

“The Trump Tower, actually.”

He laughs so hard his face dips, making me grin. The building is a monstrosity to most Chicagoans, and I know this as well as I do that most White Sox fans are from South Chicago—the blue-collar side—whereas most Cubs fans are from the north side of town and are white-collar. Nothing about Levi shouts wealth, but there are subtle details I’ve noted, like the heavy gold watch around his wrist and how his attention didn’t waver when a man sat beside us at the bar on Friday and asked for a shot that cost him two hundred dollars.

“You mentioned you like to cook,” I say. “Is that something you picked up from your family?”

The corner of his mouth draws up, but his eyes don’t shine with humor like they do when he laughs. He clears his throat. “No. It caused a bit of a family rift, actually.”

“Really?”

He nods once. “Well, in all fairness, it began with me dropping out of college.” His grin widens, revealing mirth, but there’s a trace of desolation he hides by taking a drink. “I needed a job and got a part-time gig as a dishwasher at this fancy restaurant downtown.” He pauses, moving his glass in small circles as though stirring the thoughts that brought the distant look to his eyes, like he’s reliving the past. It makes me question if I’m misreading him. If maybe he’s just a regular guy—or at least as regular as he can be looking like a Greek god. “I’d never cooked before in my life, and the head chef at this place was a total asshole. I mean, he was the worst.”

Jerry throws a towel, hitting Levi in the face. “Watch your mouth, or I’ll send you to the back and reunite you with the goddamn dishwashing duties.”

I sit back, looking between the two men. “Wait. You were the head chef? So, you guys really know each other.”

Jerry’s eyebrows rise as he nods slowly. “If you’re asking if I know all the dirt on this bastard, the answer is I do.”

Levi tosses the towel back, hitting Jerry in the chest. “He was one hell of a cook and was even crankier back then, believe it or not. He’s gotten soft with his old age.”

“I felt bad for him, eating his shitty takeout on breaks, so I told him to get some food one night,” Jerry tells me. “I had no idea then I’d be chaining the obnoxious pain in the ass to my ankle.” He rights himself and extends his arms, going straight down memory lane and into story mode. “After eating the food I’d made, he started hovering over me. Watching everything I did and getting in my way like a goddamn shadow.”

“It was your risotto,” Levi says, looking to me. “It was like a drug.”

“So, you learned to cook by watching him?” The two are grinning at each other with a sense of familiarity and comradery built over time.

“Hell no,” Jerry says. “This kid couldn’t tell a turnip from an onion and assumed if you cooked it hotter, it would just cook faster.”

I laugh, thinking of when I first began event planning and how many errors I’d made assuming I would make things faster and easier.

“I sucked,” Levi says.

“You far, far beyond sucked. You were horrible,” Jerry adds.

“But it lit my obsession with food.” Levi shrugs, nodding toward Jerry. “He got so sick and tired of me breathing down his neck that he deemed me a prep cook so I’d be busy and a dozen feet away from him.” He lifts his hands, fingers spread. I trace over the myriad of white scars that thread through his fingers. It’s like a spider web; many of the lines are nearly invisible, while a few stand out like a distinct threat. “As you can see, he was clearly trying to kill me even back then.”

“I don’t know if I’m scared or impressed that you were so persistent.”

“Pretty boy here deserves some accolades,” Jerry tells me, wiping his hands on a towel. “I give him a hard time, but he’s actually a class act. He’s hard-working, determined, would give a complete stranger the shirt off of his back, and he can cook … mostly…” He eyes Levi, his bushy eyebrows lowering over his gaze. “He’s mostly a … fairly good chef, but his risotto still doesn’t touch mine.”

Levi coughs through a chuckle. “Because it’s so much better.”

Jerry flings the same rag at him. “You kids should get going. I heard security has been increased again this year.” He stands before us, his palms flat on the bar as he looks at Levi. “Bring her back by before the next game, after she’s learned how bad the dogs are.”

“I’m vegetarian, and don’t really like much dairy, so I eat mostly vegan…” My words drift off, wishing I’d left that part off because I know he’s going to ask how it’s possible that I don’t like cheese. “So, I’ll be okay.”

Jerry pulls his head back and blinks rapidly, turning his attention between Levi and me.

“You’re a vegetarian?” Jerry sputters.

The widened gaze of disbelief and question. The chin pulling back with confusion. The nose wrinkle, judging if I’m strange. It’s all a natural reaction. “Don’t worry. It’s not contagious.”

Jerry turns to Levi, then back to me. “You heard me say he’s a chef, right? Meat is this man’s life.” He shakes his head. “Are you willing to reconsider this detail?”

I laugh. “Well, they actually make you sign a contract when you go vegetarian. It’s a big deal. There are candles and wax drippings, chanting—lots of chanting—and I had to take this oath…”

Levi chuckles beside me.

“You can’t flavor anything without meat, though.” Jerry sags back on one leg. “I mean, what do you even eat?”

“Well, unfortunately all of my current neighbors are really on top of mowing their yards, and they don’t let the dandelions get out of hand, so it’s been forcing me to go to the grocery store a lot.” I shrug, smiling to reveal I’m joking.

“You’re kind of a smartass, aren’t you?” A grin erases his previous shock. “Maybe the vegetarian thing won’t be such a big burden for the two of you then. You guys enjoy your date, and I’ll start researching some vegetarian dishes.”

“Oh, this isn’t a date,” I say. “I mean, we’re not … together.” I swallow my discomfort, uncertain of Levi’s reaction because I can’t convince myself to face him. “I’m actually starting a blog, and Levi was kind enough to offer to take me to a baseball game when I told him I haven’t ever been. We’re … friends.” I try the word.

Jerry’s bushy eyebrows rise, creating thick lines across his broad forehead. Again, he swings his attention between Levi and me before stopping on him. “You got friend-zoned already? What in the hell did you do?”