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I thank the man for holding the door to the Denver Central Market open for me. He’s there every day at lunch, doing the same for every person who strolls in and out. I wave to Pamela as she waits for some folks to make their decision about the very expensive, and not entirely worth it, chocolates gleaming like jewels under the massive glass case.
My mouth salivates at the sight of fresh, locally sourced meats and house-made sausages, not to mention the trays loaded to the rim with freshly sliced, thick-cut bacon. Recipes percolate in my head—recipes of grilled venison with a charred corn and peppered bacon relish over whipped parmesan potatoes. As easily as the recipe forms, the vision of the man I’d serve that meal to forms even quicker.
I really, really miss cooking. That is one of the many reasons I need to get out of the hotel and find a proper place to live. I knew this move to Denver would be long term for me. I’d certainly hoped it would be. But long-term scares me a little. A lot. My track record hasn’t been so great, but I know this is home now. It has always felt like home. Brady, Devyn, Levi… they are my family.
I feel happy here. Content. Settled and at peace.
Reluctantly, I drag my eyes away from the fatty slabs of pork and continue my stroll toward my frequent lunch of choice, when another reason for staying fills my vision. That benefactor of my cooking daydream. Daydream that I want to become a reality.
It’s been a few days since the kiss that still has my lips tingling. We haven’t spoken yet. Davey had to go meet with a player and his agent. I think it was about one of the guys who played for Brady in Buffalo, they are trying to bring to him to Denver before the trade deadline. Then it was off to Phoenix for a game.
This is Davey’s life. It’s a life he loves. There have been no texts either and I’ll admit to being a bit—a lot—worried about what that may or may not mean.
My pace slows as I round the corner, but Ellison sees me coming.
“Hey, Carter,” he says.
“Hey El,” I reply, but my eyes are on Davis. He hasn’t looked up yet and my pulse is racing. Something is wrong. He regrets the kiss. He doesn’t want to see me right now… or ever. Then I see the grin spreading across his lips, clear to me even with the side view. He turns toward me as he slides his credit card back into his wallet and tucks that wallet into the pocket of the wool camel coat I’ve grown to love so much on him.
“The usual?” Ellison asks.
Unable to tear my eyes away from D, who now has his locked on mine, I simply nod Ellison’s way.
“You have a usual?” Davey says.
I nod again. Words, Carter, use your words. “Seems I have a new addiction.” Besides your kisses, I think. “Who knew tempura mushrooms could be so addicting?”
“Indeed, they are,” Davey laughs as Ellison plops a to-go bag in front of him and lets Davey know he put an extra container of the spicy red mayo in to go with his mushroom street tacos. Davey thanks Ellison and grabs his to-go bag. He’s smiling. He’s smiling at me. But he doesn’t say anything else. He is clearly getting ready to walk around me and out the door. It’s awkward. We don’t do awkward. We do angry. We do passionate. We don’t do awkward.
Despite his smile and his good mood, my panic bubbles up as I realize the kiss had been meaningless to him and we are never heading down that road again. My eyes fall to those lips. Those lips I want on mine again. And now.
“How was your trip?” I stammer, just to keep him there for a moment longer. But Ellison plops my food down before Davey can answer. I did not order mine to go and as I retrieve my food and step over to the small bar top to eat, Davey glances at his watch and then toward the exit. Which does nothing to quell my anxiety. There is a game tonight. A big one. That’s all. He’s just focusing on that.
“I need to…” he starts.
“I know, of course, go,” I wave my hand toward the exit and to my dismay, he walks away.
I pop one of the deep-fried oyster mushrooms into my mouth and let the hot, salty juices momentarily distract me from the fact that Davey had just walked away from me and the fact that it bothers me, a lot.
I had just finished assembling a tiny taco when a bag appears next to my plate of food.
“Come here often?”
A whiff of him floats across to me as he removes his wool coat and lays it on top of the seat next to him. Then he sits and busies himself removing his food from the to-go bag. Davey pops a mushroom into his mouth to satisfy his hunger for a moment while he builds a taco, just as I had done. I can’t take my eyes off of him, off of those hands quickly stacking mushrooms, pickled onions, cotija cheese and spicy mayo. He nearly eats it all in one bite.
I hadn’t realized I still had my taco stalled en route to my mouth. He stops chewing and looks at me.
“Oh,” I say and stuff my mouth full of food, too.
“Sorry,” he mumbles, still chewing. “I was starving.”
I don’t care if he never says another word. He came back. He’s next to me, and that’s all I care about. How quickly things can change. How quickly having him next to me became a comfort. He takes a long pull off his water bottle, wipes his mouth and sits back, taking a breath, obviously feeling way better with food traveling through his system.
“So, your trip was good?” I return to my original question.
Davey nods. “Yes, very. Shaker will be here this weekend.”
“Oh, wow,” I say. “I guess I forget how quickly all that works.”
