The waitress brought our drinks and asked if we were ready to order. Once again, Jared waited for me to begin.
“I’ll have the Greek salad,” I said. I glanced over at Jared, who studied me with raised eyebrows and a wry smile. I wasn’t about to be one of those girls, “And the linguine.”
The waitress turned her attention to Jared. “For you?”
“I’ll have the house salad with blue cheese and the Shrimp Scampi. And would you bring us some of those sweet potato fries, please?” he said, handing the menu to the waitress. Once she left I looked around the restaurant and then peeked over at Jared, who still hadn’t taken his eyes off me.
I floundered for conversation under his stare. Jared’s eyes were an incredible blue-grey; they almost glowed against his lightly bronzed skin. His thick brown eyebrows sat atop his almond-shaped eyes and were just slightly darker than his strategically messy dark blonde hair. His natural highlights glimmered in the early afternoon sun that broke through the windows. He was clearly more than just attractive. I wondered again why he was still speaking to me.
“Sweet potato fries?” I asked.
“They’re famous. Well, they’re famous to me. You have to dip them in these little sauces they give you to fully appreciate them. It’s an experience.”
“Sweet potato fries,” I said, still unsure.
He smiled. “Trust me.” His cell phone vibrated, and he flipped it open. It was more than a text message this time; he masked an irritated look and pressed it to his ear.
“Ryel,” he answered.
Righ-el? I was fairly sure that was his last name, but I couldn’t be certain. He lowered his voice and tilted his head away from me. He was unhappy with the caller, but it was only the tone I could understand; he was speaking what I guessed to be Russian. He was devastatingly handsome, kind, and spoke a second language. If the sweet potato fries turned out to be all that he’d promised, I might have fallen out of my chair.
He became impatient with the person on the other end of the line and hung up the phone.
“Sorry about that,” he said.
I shook my head, fielding his apology. “No, it’s fine. I just inadvertently learned two new things about you.”
His eyes were still focused on mine, but they were a bit fogged over as if his attention was divided between me and the problem with the caller.
“Ryel?” I asked.
“My last name.”
“And was that….Russian you were speaking?” I raised my eyebrows.
“Yes,” he sighed. His shoulders relaxed as he exhaled. “Doesn’t everyone speak a second language these days?”
“You only speak two?” I said, feigning dissatisfaction.
He laughed, and a new twinge formed in my chest. I couldn’t get over his smile and how remarkable it was, as if he had come straight out of a magazine.
“I took French in high school. It didn’t stick,” I said, feeling inferior.
“My dad spoke fluently. I learned from him.”
“Oh, your family is from Russia?”
“Er…no,” Jared said, looking uncomfortable with the question.
“It was beautiful,” I said. “You’re very popular. Business must be fantastic.”
His eyes tightened as he studied my face. “Business is…,” his eyes softened and he leaned in a bit towards me, meeting my gaze, “better than it’s been in a long time.”
I forced myself to breathe. It felt unnatural when he looked at me like that. “So you enjoy what you do?”
“Some days more than others,” he shrugged.
“And today?”
He smiled again. Something was amusing him about our conversation, and I wasn’t in on the joke. “Today’s a good day.”
My attention was diverted to the waitress walking up behind him, bringing our sweet potato fries and salads. Jared looked down at the table and then to me with a calculating grin.
“Feeling brave?”
I leaned over to get a better look inside the woven bowl. “You’re making me awfully nervous over a basket of fries. These should be some earth shattering potatoes.”
“Truly, potatoes that deserve an introduction.” We both laughed. He picked up a few and dipped them in a cup of strange looking goo.
“No ketchup?” I asked, eyeing the misshapen spear in my hand.
Jared wrinkled his nose. “Ketchup is for those who don’t want to taste their food.”
“Ketchup is for suckers.” I concentrated on the basket, my eyebrows pressed together.
Laughter erupted from his throat, and I plunged my fry into the sauce. He took a bite and watched me raise my hand to my mouth. His expression grew playfully anxious as I chewed.
“Not...bad. Pretty good, actually,” I said, nodding as I swallowed.
His face was triumphant. We joked and laughed as we eliminated the remaining fries, and politely discussed the weather through our salads. After we finished our entrées, he eyed my empty plate and nodded his head in satisfaction.
“I like a girl with an appetite.”