Page 174 of Tangled with the Tight End

Declan shakes his head, smiling softly.

“I didn’t yell that, so I’m calling it a win. Camel? They serve camels here? Declan.”

“Flip the menu, Winona.”

I don’t. “Rattlesnake. Can you even eat snake meat? Over pasta. Well, that’s good. I’ll just have snake and macaroni.”

Declan laughs, deep and hearty, and the older couple at the table next to us turns to look.

“Well, hey there,” the man says to Declan.

His wife’s face scrunches as if she should know Declan since her husband obviously does.

“Declan O’Connell.” The man says the words like a statement. Then he glances at his wife. “Tight end for the Thunder. Out for the season on an ankle injury.”

She nods, returning her attention to her meal.

Her husband stands. He’s a substantial man, large frame, wearing an expensive-looking suit.

He walks over and shakes Declan’s hand. “I hate to interrupt.” He glances from Declan to me. “I’m a huge fan. So good to see you out and about. Must mean you’re on the mend.”

Declan nods, still not saying a word to the man. He’s not being rude, but he’s obviously not leaving the door open for this man to interrupt our first date.

“Can I trouble you for a photo?” the man asks. “Then I’ll leave you in peace to enjoy your meal.”

Declan stands, obviously understanding the principle of blackmail. Pay the guy to get what you want. He’s going to hold us hostage until he walks back to his table with a photo.

“Do you mind?” The man hands me his camera.

Declan’s mouth twitches as if he’s going to say something in protest.

I speak before he can. “Not a problem.”

I stand, aiming the phone camera at Declan while the man wraps his arm around him as if they’re old friends.

“Thank you so much,” the man says. “I hope you keep on healing and get back in the game real soon. We’re going to take the Panthers tomorrow, though.”

“That’s the plan,” Declan says. “Nice to meet you.”

His heart isn’t in his words. I know the difference. He’s being polite and professional.

The man takes his seat with his wife, and she says, “They’re on a date, Darren.”

“It wasn’t a big thing,” he defends.

Declan leans over and whispers, “Sorry about that.”

“Can’t be helped,” I tell him. “It’s sweet that people want you back on the field.”

I turn my attention back to the menu. “What are tobacco onions?”

Declan laughs and quietly says, “You don’t smoke them.”

He knows me too well.

“They’re thinly cut onions that are dredged in flour and cooked until they’re the brown of cured tobacco leaves. Think of the best onion ring you’ve ever had.”

“Mmm,” I say, my mouth literally watering.