Free Pitching for Her Love by Tori Blake Page A

like a meal for 100 people.
    “Please don’t think that way,” he said.  “I would love to have that kind of place.  Just something normal.”
    I had to laugh at this, and I motioned to the men preparing food in the kitchen.  “I thought you were cooking for us!” I said.
    “Trust me, if I was cooking, you really would never want to see me again,” he said.
    At this, my smile disappeared.  Not even five minutes in and we already were talking about the other night.  He seemed to sense my unease immediately.
    “Let’s go sit on the porch.  I think Jean Francois has put hors d’oeuvres out already,” he said and took my hand.  He guided me out through a set of large French doors and onto a patio overlooking a secluded backyard.
    “Do you have neighbors?” I asked, peering over the railing to the left and right.
    “Yes, but one is a teammate and the other is this investment banker who is never around.  You don’t have to worry,” he said, and suddenly he was right beside me.  He took my wine glass from my hand, placed it on the table, and reached his hand to the left side of my face, tilting my chin up toward him and bringing his lips to mine.
    “Grayson, wait,” I said before he could kiss me.
    “What’s wrong?” he asked.  He didn’t seem angry or frustrated, just confused.
    “I kind of want to talk about Saturday and”—I paused, a little uncomfortable—“I guess everything that happened afterward.”
    “Okay,” he said while he nodded, and he motioned to a comfortable-looking set of chairs.  I chose one and took a large sip of wine before I continued.
    “The papers seemed to focus a lot on my body type,” I said, trying to sound as nonchalant and unembarrassed as possible.  “Do you have any idea why they might do that?”
    At this, he smiled widely.  His face lit up from his dimples to his eyes.
    “I told you I liked curvy girls,” he said, and it was impossible not to smile back at him.
    “What about your ex?” I asked, not sure if I wanted to hear the answer or not.
    “Everyone has a type,” he said, “and I told you about her and what she did.  I’m not going to lie: you look a lot like her.”
    This must have visibly put me off, because he immediately said, “But you have a much kinder heart.  You’re smart, clever, and all the things I’m looking for, and you happen to be the most beautiful woman I think I have ever seen in my life.”
    I couldn’t do anything but smile.  When I was with Grayson I felt so happy and complete, as if my whole life was opening up in front of me.  It was a life I wasn’t even sure I wanted, but here it was offering itself to me anyway.
    Jean Francois and his team of silent chefs brought out course after course for us, a fusion of French and American food that was unlike anything I had ever eaten.  The wine flowed freely, and it was even more delicious than the food.  Tonight made all my wine tastings and restaurant openings look like elementary school play dates.
    We laughed and talked and shared stories for hours.  He asked about my family, and I told him about my mom, stepfather, and sister, Carrie.  He told me about his two brothers, one older and one younger, and his parents who had been married for forty years.  We joked like old friends and shared our favorites and dislikes, having a heated debate over the merits of various new films of the year.
    “I can’t believe you would rather sit through two hours of a talking teddy bear than a classic action film!” he said as he finished his glass of wine.
    “Classic is just another word for old!” I laughed back, and he snorted a laugh into his chocolate tart.
    I finished my glass too and took time to look at him while he ate.  I’d had enough wine to make me feel comfortable enough doing it, and he smiled when he noticed.
    “Thank you for coming tonight,” he said.  “I know you didn’t want to at first, but I hope you had a good time.”
    “I had a great