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Delicious speed dating…

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A cozy room, draped with red velvet panes, from ceiling to floor… A dozen two places tables, and as many men and women, sitting in the darkness, the flame of a candle making the shadows dance between each temporary couple.

*Bell ringing*

The twelve women got up in an elegant ballet, some leaving the table after a peck on the cheek, others after a simple handshake. She was wearing a black A-line dress and bright red stilettos matching her small purse and her lipstick.

Interesting, he thought.

Interesting, she thought.

He stood straight and looked confident, but not cocky. When he stood up to welcome her at the table, she was impressed by his height. She reached out her hand, and he bent down to leave a quick peck on it.

  • Madame…

They sat down and broke the ice making small talk about bread types, not too touchy of a subject, and allowing them to gauge each other discretely.

The tip of her index playing slowly along her glass of Pinot Noir, her gaze travelled back and forth between his face and the dark wine, peeking at him through her long eye lashes… He stared straight at her, intensely yet not a bit intimidating…

  • And where do you stand when it comes to garlic? Would you favor a fresh breath, or tasty dish, Sir?

It was a test, he knew it. Garlic was often a deal breaker in those quick encounters, but he was a one-face man, and he didn’t even hesitate.

  • I’m all in, with garlic! I’ve even come to enjoy the smell of it on a lovely lady’s lips…  But if it is of any worry, I always have selection of minty sweets to share if breath freshness is an issue. I never compromise the taste of a dish for such futile details…

She liked his confidence… Most of her other quick dates had mumbled, or denied using the controversial bulbous plant.

The conversation was fluent and easy, and they went naturally from blue cheese to arborio rice, had a good laugh over exotic fruit, and echanged deeper thoughts about around the world spices, when it came to turnip…

  • I feel kind of bad about turnip – she said – I always cook it out of pity. Nobody truly likes turnip…

He chanced to reach out his hand to cover hers on the small table. He felt a subtle twitch as his large paw touched her delicate skin, and he wondered if he had imagined the sudden glittering in her left eye, or if it was a reflection of the candle’s flame.

  • Would you be a bit soft-hearted, Madame?

He was about to tell her he had a feeling he’d enjoy her turnips, when the bell rang again, putting and end to their encounter…

She shook the emotion off her mind, and smiled, as she picked up her glass and stood up to move to the next table. He stood too, and stopped her from walking away.

  • Wait, we haven’t even adressed proteins yet…

She reached up, and he bent down on her, letting the mysterious woman soflty brush her lips on his cheek. Before pulling back, she whispered to his ear…

  • I guess you’ll have to pick me to find out?

And she turned away, rolling her hips, strolling towards her next rendez-vous, letting him with the sudden hope of possible future feasts…

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