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His wolfish grin sent tingles to all the right places.

“There’s nothing plastic about you.” His gaze met mine. “All kidding aside, I’m not fancy glasses all the time. Sometimes I’m beer and video games.” My shoulders relaxed. He got it. I wasn’t sure he would, but if he could understand my uncertainty, maybe we weren’t that different. His face got serious. “How do you feel about video games?”

I huffed a quick laugh. “Relieved? You’ve already blown my preconceived notions out of the water. I’m glad to hear there’s something less overachiever in your arsenal.”

He scoffed. “My gaming skills arenottypical. They’re exceptional. I’m challenging you after dinner to prove it.”

He’d forgotten I grew up with ultra-competitive brothers.

“You’re on,” I said with a grin.

I relaxed and enjoyed sipping my wine as he finished braising the greens, moving with quiet confidence. He’d already mashed the potatoes, and they were steaming gently at the back of the stove. I could get used to this. Especially when he bent over the stove to check on the chicken in the oven, putting his firm glutes on display. I shifted in my seat, suddenly warm. From the open oven. Sure.Ogling Jimmy and eating delicious meals would never get old.He was full of desirable husbandly qualities.

He pulled the chicken from the stove, and my mouth watered. The skin was crisp and brown, and the pan crackled with the juices and aromatic steam as he transferred the bird to a cutting board to rest. I had never roasted a chicken on my own. The closest I’d come was picking one up at the grocery deli. It looked beautiful. My pangs of inadequacy threatened to become loud clangs. Jimmy was gorgeous, kind, and cooked like a dream? I would be getting the deal of the century if I married him. What was he getting?

Every bite of dinner was heavenly. We both seemed reluctant to broach the subject that brought us together. More than dazzled with his culinary skills, I finally blurted out, “How did you learn todoall of this?”

“My grandma watched me and my sister while my parents were deployed, and she had definite opinions on what we should be able to do in the kitchen. What, it’s not on brand?” he teased.

I shook my head. If seducing me with good food was part of the master plan, then it was absolutely working. “I can casserole and crock pot like a boss, but this meal is complicated. I’m impressed.”

He nodded. “That was the idea.”

“You mean you won’t cook like this for me every night?” I teased.

He smiled, and I enjoyed the flash of his white teeth and the hint of dimples. “Not most nights, no. My schedule doesn’t allow for it.”

“Well, color me disappointed. This was delicious.” Feeling full and curious, I asked, “You haven’t talked much about your job. What’s a typical week like for you?” If we did go through with this marriage, how much time would we spend together? How dangerous was his job?

“There is no typical week.”

I could sense his reluctance to speak but I needed additional information. “Tell me more. I know you’re with the Tacoma Fire Department, but that’s about it.”

“I’ve been on the job about five years. It’s a lot of vehicle collisions, nursing home calls, and the occasional fire.”

“Do you like it?”

“Most days it’s the best job. Some days, not so much. Probably like any other job.” His lips twisted. “It’s not like the movies and TV shows.”

“I know that much. What surprised you most?”

“Honestly? The number of EMS calls. I never expected to spend so much time convincing senior citizens to see a doctor.”

I laughed at the image of Jimmy surrounded by stubborn blue-haired ladies. “Not how you envisioned your life as a tough guy firefighter, huh? Being a senior citizen whisperer?”

He smiled. “Not exactly. I expected a lot more heroic fire rescues and a lot fewer building fire inspections.”

“Living the glamorous life.”

He crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair. “What about you, do you like massage therapy? Is it weird to touch people’s naked bodies all the time?”

I let the subject change go. It was my turn to laugh. “You get used to it. It’s no worse than any other medical profession. They’re just bodies.”

He flexed his bicep. “Speak for yourself. I like to think mine is a work of art.”

I groaned. “Don’t tell me you’re one of those. You haven’t been on one of those firefighter calendars, have you? Deal breaker!”

His mock hurt was perfect. “Hey, those are for charity.”