Chapter 17
September 15th
Today’s Schedule: Shoot yoga workout at Matt & Holly’s, 8 AM
Dinner with JP, 7 PM
“This is so cool,” I say excitedly as our host shows us to a table. “What inspired this choice?”
JP pauses to pull out my chair for me. I have to repress a dreamy sigh from escaping my lips as he does. He’s such an old-school gentleman.
My sexy Swiss gentleman has taken me out for a Turkish meal tonight at Ephesus, which JP described as a gem tucked away in a strip mall. Tables are draped in white and vibrant blue cloths, creating a Mediterranean vibe. Exotic music fills the air, and tables around us are filled with delicious-looking plates of exotic foods.
It’s something I’ve never had before, and I can’t wait to share this new experience with JP.
JP sits down across from me, and I appreciate how he’s gone dressy tonight by wearing a white dress shirt and gray pants. His shirt is open at the neck, revealing his tanned skin, and my pulse burns as I remember how his wet skin felt against mine in the cabana last night.
“It’s our second official date,” JP says. “Time to be adventurous. For this good guy, eating exotic food on a date is my idea of an adventure.”
I study him carefully, noticing the serious expression etched on his face, and I know he’s using his good boy curse as a disclaimer for his choice in case I don’t like it or think it’s too “nice.”
When nothing could be further from the truth.
“I find this incredibly adventurous,” I say, reassuring him. “It’s perfect for me.”
Just like I think you might be, my heart whispers.
As soon as the thought hits me, fear fights back. I push the romantic thought down, not wanting to think about anything beyond tonight.
“Yeah?” JP asks, interrupting the war in my head.
“Absolutely,” I say, refocusing on us.
Right here, right now, us.
“And the flowers weren’t too much?” JP asks.
“The flowers,” I say firmly, “were romantic. When I told you I loved them, I meant it.”
JP exhales and rubs his hand along his jaw. “Shit. I’m sorry. I need to quit second-guessing myself. You see me differently. I need to believe that.”
I’m touched by his vulnerability. This strong man is wearing his heart on his sleeve. For me.
“You do need to believe me. I’m not like the other girls you’ve gone out with.”
“No, you’re not.”
Ooh! My heart leaps at the intensity burning in his hazel eyes.
“Good evening, may I get you something to drink?” the server asks as he stops by our table.
JP clears his throat. “Yes.” He shifts his attention to me. “Would you like to try a Turkish wine tonight?”
“Sounds ridiculously adventurous,” I tease. “I’m in.”
JP flashes me a huge smile, and the butterflies go manic in my stomach.
“Two glasses of Yakut, please,” JP says, turning his attention back to our server.
“Of course.”
“And can we get some hummus and baba ghanoush to start?”
“Excellent, I’ll get that right out for you,” he says.
“Thank you,” JP replies.
“Ooh, what did you order us?” I ask, eager to know.
“Not Oreos.”
I burst out laughing, and JP’s face lights up in a wicked grin.
“I should hope not. I am well-versed in Oreos, but Turkish food is a brand-new adventure, and one I want to share with you.”
JP reaches for my hand across the table, and when it covers mine, happiness radiates through me.
“Well, since we’re sharing an adventure, I should let you know what you’ll be getting. Yakut is a Turkish red wine. Very distinctive.”
“I like distinctive. In my wine and my dates,” I say, feeling flirty.
“Good,” JP says, slowly tracing his thumb back and forth across the top of my hand. “Then I think I have this nailed down tonight, don’t I, Catwoman?”
Ooh, the chemistry hasn’t left from last night. It doesn’t seem to matter if JP is in swim trunks or a dress shirt, if we’re swimming or eating Turkish food; what we have burns white hot.
Every.Single.Time.
“I’d say you do, Batman.”
“Good,” he says.
“Tell me about the appetizers,” I manage to say.
“Hummus?” JP teases.
I laugh. “No, I know what hummus is, thank you, but the other one.”
“Baba ghanoush is an eggplant dip with tahini.”
“Yum, I love eggplant, so I’ll be all over that. Now, what should I order?” I ask, as I finally get around to glancing at the menu.
“Turkish cooking has lots of veggies,” he says, scanning the options in front of him. “Everything is fresh. It’s simple, but it’s my favorite food to eat.”
“How do you know all of this? Was there a good Turkish restaurant you went to back home in Switzerland?”
“Yes. My favorite restaurant in Zurich is 01 Ocakbasi,” JP says. “The kebaps there are freaking amazing. That’s kebab.”
“Ah. So, what do you like to order here?” I ask as another server comes by and places two glasses of water on the table.
JP glances up. “Excuse me, may I have a glass of water without ice, please?”
The server nods. “Of course,” she says, taking the glass filled with ice away.
I furrow my brow. “No ice?”
“No. I hate ice in drinks.”
“How can that be? A drink without ice is wrong!”
“No,” JP says, cocking an eyebrow at me.
I draw my hand away in mock horror. “It’s hot here. Don’t you like cold drinks?”
“Drinks can be cold without ice. In Switzerland, it’s rare to have a drink with ice.”
“I can’t imagine. You have mysterious Swiss ways about you, Jean-Pierre.”
JP leans forward across the table. “Come here.”
I lean forward, and suddenly JP’s lips sweetly press against mine.
I smile as I feel his soft mouth, surprised by this spontaneous romantic gesture.
JP breaks the kiss and sits back in his seat. “You said, ‘Jean-Pierre.’ I’m supposed to kiss you whenever you say my name.”
Oh, he’s utterly delicious.
“I’m glad to see you don’t break promises,” I answer.
“I don’t.”
My breath catches in my throat. Something tells me JP is the kind of man who would never say something he doesn’t mean or make promises he couldn’t keep.
“More disturbing information,” JP continues, interrupting my thoughts. “I don’t use the ice maker in my fridge.”
“Never?”
“Never.”
“That is disturbing on multiple levels.”
The server returns and places two glasses of wine on the tabletop. JP tells him we need more time, and he retreats, leaving us alone again.
JP lifts his glass to me. “To sharing adventures.”
I smile and clink my glass against his. “Cheers to that.”
After we toast, I eagerly take a sip of the ruby-red wine.
“Mmm, it’s dry,” I say after I drink it. “It’s good.”
“I like dry wine,” JP says, putting his glass down. “We’re in a Turkish restaurant, so, hey, we need the full experience.”
Yes, I think. We do.
I ask JP for his recommendations for dinner, and we decide to order a bunch of stuff and eat family style. JP takes his food seriously, and we put together a dinner that has protein and plenty of veggies but is far from boring. In addition to our appetizers, we get shepherd salad, which is made up of cucumber, tomatoes, bell peppers, parsley, lemon, and olive oil. We place an order for two entrees. One is the hunkar begendi, which is lamb in tomato sauce, served with smoked eggplant mash; the other is the beef and lamb İskender kebab, which comes with tomato sauce, yogurt, and bread. JP also threw in an order for crispy brussels sprouts.
I love that he knows his nutrition. As an athlete who cares about his game, I know he has to. It’s fun to be able to talk to him on this level about food, about how to enjoy it, yet make it healthy and nourish our bodies at the same time.
We continue talking until our meals arrive, and JP and I ask for extra plates and arrange them on the table for sharing. As our server places everything down in front of us, I’m awed by the brightness of the food, full of beautiful vegetables and stunningly plated. The amazing and new-to-me aromas drift off the hot plates, and I can’t wait to dive headfirst into this gorgeous Turkish cuisine.
I’m in food bliss.
After the server leaves, JP watches me as I eagerly pick up my fork to start plating.
“Aren’t you going to take a picture first?” he asks.
I pause. Wow. I didn’t even think about taking a picture, something I’d normally do without a second thought.
I realize what this means.
I set my fork down. “No.”
“Really?” JP asks, his eyebrows shooting up in surprise as he picks up his fork. “I’m surprised. This seems like a perfect pic for Real.Life.Reese.”
“I don’t want to share this with the Internet,” I say, admitting what is in my heart. “I only want to share it with you.”
JP doesn’t say anything. I swallow hard, trying to fight the panic building in my chest. Is this honesty too much for JP, for a man who made it clear he wants to hang out and for a man who says what he means? Is declaring how much this moment means to me too much for him to hear?
Vulnerable.
I made myself vulnerable to him, and as the seconds go by and he simply stares at me, I regret doing so.
“Say my name,” he asks simply.
My breath catches in my throat. “Jean-Pierre.”
He leans over the plates of food and brushes his lips against mine.
“Thank you for wanting to keep this night ours,” he murmurs against my lips.
Electricity surges through me from his sweet kiss and even sweeter words.
He sits back in his chair and picks up his fork. “Ladies first,” he insists.
I know I’m beaming as I dig into the hunkar begendi.
We aren’t taking pictures and posting it for followers, or even privately for friends. Our memories tonight will be made the old-fashioned way, in our heads. In our hearts. The night will be full of things to share and experiences only we will know.