Playing For Keeps by Deborah Fletcher Mello

just one problem.”
    Her lips lifted in a slight smile. “And what was that?”
    â€œI really wasn’t any good!” Malcolm answered with a hearty laugh. “In fact, I was really bad! More missed passes than I care to count and I couldn’t make a free throw to save my life!”
    By the time their entrée arrived both had shared more about each other than either had ever shared with anyone else before. They were served their meal by Walter Royal himself, the master chef, who was excited to see his friend again. He shook Cilla’s hand earnestly as Malcolm introduced them. The chateaubriand was exquisite, cut from the tenderloin and served with pan-roasted fingerling potatoes and sautéed vegetables with ramekins of béarnaise sauce and shitake mushroom au jus. Both the meal and the conversation were satisfying beyond measure.
    â€œSo, what’s your secret passion?” Malcolm asked, his eyebrows lifting curiously.
    She took a moment to reflect on his question. “I love to quilt.”
    â€œQuilt? Like in blankets?”
    She shook her head. “No. I like creating artistic quilts. I’m sort of a closet textile artist. I make wall hangings out of fiber.”
    â€œWow! I can’t wait to see your work,” he said.
    â€œOne day”, she said as she took a sip of her beverage. She placed the glass back on the table. “Tell me more about your business.”
    â€œWell,” he started, as he gave her some history about the company he’d built and told her about his plans for expansion. As he spoke she listened intently, her eyes never leaving his face as she found herself caught up in his excitement. Time seemed to stand still as the two talked on and on.
    â€œMmmm!” Cilla moaned when they brought the dessert tray, the decadent treats making her mouth water.
    It featured a variety of freshly baked cheesecakes, cobblers, pies, and multiple ice cream delicacies. Malcolm selected the blackberry cobbler; a fragrant dish of large, firm berries in a flaky, butter-laden crust served with a large scoop of vanilla ice cream. Cilla was unable to resist the Sawdust Pie, their award-winning, signature dessert topped with a dollop of sweetened whipped cream.
    â€œThis is my deep, dark secret,” she said as she slowly licked her dessert fork. She pulled the metal tines past her lips. “I have a weakness for sweets. I cannot pass up dessert. Ever. It’s my addiction.”
    Malcolm laughed. “Maybe I need to take you to one of my meetings. I go regularly. It’s amazing what a twelve-step program will do for you.”
    Cilla suddenly laid her fork along the side of her plate. Contrition washed over her expression. “I’m sorry. That was really insensitive of me, wasn’t it?” she said, her apology shining brightly in her dark eyes. Malcolm shook his head.
    â€œNothing for you to apologize for. Addiction is an awkward subject for some people to discuss. I make jokes to help folks feel more comfortable. I don’t want you to think you have to censor yourself around me. Ever. If there’s something you need to say, then I want you to say it.”
    Cilla took a deep breath. She nodded her head slightly. “I appreciate you being open with me. A lot of men wouldn’t have done that. And if you’re okay with it, as long as it doesn’t impact our relationship from this point forward, we don’t really need to talk about it again unless you just want to.”
    â€œSo, we have a relationship now?”
    Her grin widened. “You bought me dinner. And dessert. I might start stalking you.”
    He nodded. “If that’s the case, and I’m laying all my cards on the table, I guess I should tell you that I did some time in prison, too.”
    Cilla’s fork came to an abrupt stop in midair, waving just inches from her open mouth. She cut her eye at him meeting the look he was giving her. She