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Ciara set down her goblet of lemonade. “I had to pick through the mixed baby greens to select the ones that were still fresh. You hadn’t cut the melon, so it was still ripe.” She’d crumbled some feta cheese and added thinly sliced scallions.
“You’re an incredible cook,” Brandt said, raising his goblet.
She raised her goblet in acknowledgment. “Thank you.”
Brandt speared another forkful of salad, savoring the differing flavors and textures on his tongue. “I’d ordered groceries before driving down south, because I knew I wouldn’t have time once mini-camp and preseason began.”
“Do you usually cook for yourself?”
Brandt nodded. “Not enough, even though I enjoy cooking.” He put up a hand. “Before you ask, I’ll admit to watching cooking channels. I’ve learned to make Paula Deen’s Southern fried chicken and Aaron McCargo Jr.’s stuffed pork chops.”
Leaning back in her chair, Ciara saw excitement light up Brandt’s eyes. It was apparent football, plants and samurai swords weren’t Brandt’s only interests. “What’s your best dish?”
“Shrimp and grits. I’m still trying to perfect an authentic New Orleans po’ boy.”
“Hey-y-y,” she crooned. “So you like Southern cuisine.”
“I love it. That’s why I bought a place in North Carolina.”
Resting her arms on the table, Ciara leaned closer. “Why North Carolina?”
Brandt speared a slice of steak and popped it into his mouth, moaning under his breath. “Delicious. Why North Carolina?” he repeated. “I had a teammate who’d gotten into real estate with his brother-in-law. They gave me a prospectus of new homes and lodges going up around Lake Lure. It only took one visit to convince me to buy.”
“Where is Lake Lure?”
“It’s near Chimney Rock, around twenty-five miles southeast of Asheville. The long-time locals told me the exterior shots in Dirty Dancing were filmed in Lake Lure.”
“I thought it was filmed in the Catskills,” Ciara admitted.
“I’d thought so, too. It’s the same with Last of the Mohicans—it was also filmed in North Carolina.”
The topic segued from food to movies and music, Brandt confessing he had a fondness for movie sound-tracks. Ciara felt as if she’d escaped to another universe devoid of city noise and traffic. If it hadn’t been for the sound of passing air traffic overhead she would’ve forgotten she was sitting on a rooftop terrace in the middle of Manhattan.
The conversation came to an abrupt halt when Ciara’s cell phone rang. Reaching into the pocket of her tunic, she stared at the display. It was Leona Wainwright. Excusing herself, she stood up and walked a short distance away so Brandt couldn’t overhear her.
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