“This seat is for VIPs only," he said, removing the placard and lifting the pillow. "That would be you."
Isabella felt like a piece of mozzarella cheese that'd been stretched and dunked and stretched again as it arrived at its final destination. A night that was supposed to be celebratory had become royally embarrassing, and now it was taking a turn toward the romantic?
"This is so nice," she said, finally looking at Gabe as he escorted her to her stool. His face was open and eager and focused entirely on Isabella. Was it because of her hair? Her dress? Her makeup? Well, no: when he'd first met her, she was wearing overalls and a tie-dyed Ben & Jerry's T-shirt and hadn't showered in two days and was about to get fired, and he'd still seemed smitten.
"Will you let me cook for you? Put yourself into my hands?"
If Isabella had a kink, this would be it.
"Ummm... a hundred percent yes?" she answered.”