“Famous pro athlete likes a steakhouse? You may not be a hockey player, but I think that's at least good for a free steak.”
Tyler holds my chair for me again, the perfect gentleman, and comes around to his seat. “Maybe, but I think I want the ribs tonight. What about you?”
“Fish again. I really enjoyed it last time, and we don't cook enough of it at home.”
“I agree,” Tyler says, spreading his napkin into his lap. “I was thinking, maybe this offseason, we can go take some cooking classes. Somebody's gotta have domestic skills courses for guys like me available somewhere in this city.”
I go quiet, looking down, and Tyler grows concerned. “April? What is it?”
“It's just . . . I know you're not trying to be mean, but you keep talking like you're going to stick around Toronto after the season, and not head back to San Diego or Los Angeles or hell, down to Jacksonville with your buddy Duncan. But when I've asked you about it directly, you still talk about going back to States as soon as you can.” I can feel the tears in my eyes, and I blink them away. “It feels like you want to leave this behind, and with my folks . . .”
My voice trails away, and I look down at my plate. “I'm sorry. We haven't even had drinks and I've ruined our date.”
“No you haven't,” Tyler says quietly, reaching over and taking my hand before I can do anything stupid like get up and leave. “You're right, I've been talking out of both sides of my mouth, saying I want to get back to the States while at the same time talking about settling in with you, exploring the fullness of our relationship. It's not fair to you, and you're right, you can't be expected to leave your parents in London while I ask you to go to the States for a long time. Can I ask, is there any chance of . . . well, of your mother changing homes?”
I shake my head, not knowing. There's no question of Dad changing homes, he wouldn't survive at all, not that he has much time left. “I'd have to talk with the doctors. I doubt it though, every time I talk to them they really emphasize that Mom's supposed to have familiar, regular surroundings. She's been at the hospital and in the hospice home for going on two years now, it's the closest thing she still has to a real home. It'd be hard on her, Tyler. And with Daddy . . . she would need time to maybe come to grips with it. If she ever does.”
Tyler nods, and takes a sip of his water. The waiter comes by and asks for our drink selection, and we decide on a bottle of Chenin Blanc that will go with both of our dishes. After the waiter goes, Tyler takes another sip of water and looks at me. “Well, this offseason, I'll stay here in Toronto, keep our apartment, and we'll evaluate things from there. I'm sure the Fighters will appreciate it.”
I tear up again, this time out of happiness rather than sadness, and I'm surprised to be dabbing at my eyes one more time. I didn't go over the top with my eye makeup, I'm no raccoon, but still, black tears down my cheeks is not what I want at all. “Thank you. I don't know where the tears are coming from, but thank you.”
“It's all right,” Tyler says easily. “April, you're more important than working on a winter tan or working on a beach body. I can talk to Coach Taylor over the Net, get with him on what to do, and Toronto's got some good places I can do my workouts. I'm lucky, really. A lot of the guys are going to be going back to part time jobs or other work, I can use the time in between seasons to get ready to play football. Even then though, we're going to have time to be together. I still need to get you a matching set of lucky pink underpants for you to wear on game days.”
I laugh, caught off guard by his joke, and nod, my tears banished for now. “That sounds good, but I thought you liked the green set? I liked your first idea most though, getting some cooking classes in. The idea of you making dinner for me is sexy as hell.”
Tyler's smirk stirs in my belly, and he leans forward, setting his hands on the table. “Well then, I’ll have to find some three star chefs to learn from.”
The waiter comes back with the wine, and pours glasses for both of us. Tyler twirls his glass for a second, then smiles. “To the future.”
“To the future.” Our food comes, and we enjoy the meal more than even the first time.
We walk home, as I'm feeling up for the short walk after dinner, and my feet feel fine. “Besides,” Tyler promises me as we get started, “when we get home, I'm giving you a foot rub.”
I chuckle and squeeze his arm, leaning slightly against him. “I know your foot rubs. You just want an excuse to have sex.”
“Is that a bad thing?” he asks, his thumb stroking the top of my hand and sending chills up my forearm.