He picked up his wine, smiling. “Wait until you try it.”
I started with the baked potato, my knife sliding right through the skin. “It’s cooked perfectly.” I added the necessary condiments and took a bite. “Mmm, yes.”
While I chewed, I cut off a chunk of rib eye, the edges richly seared, a medium temperature in the center, a thick seasoning coating the outside. “Oh my God, Dominick.” I barely had to chew—the meat practically melted, the flavors exploding on my tongue. I added a few pieces of onion and mushroom into my mouth and moaned.
“You seriously know the way to my heart.” I pointed at my plate. “Food will always be my love language.”
He was holding his fork but stayed still, watching me dig into the jalapeño and place some over the tenderloin.
“Wow, that was just as good,” I said
