#SpillthebeansonLove - Chapter 8 Perhaps he smiled out of embarrassment for me because I was truly taken and terribly obvious, maybe he smiled because he was flattered, or possibly and hopefully because he liked what he was looking at. I watched his perfectly shaped lips begin to split, his deep dark eyes soften and there it was, the most beautiful man with the most perfectly, imperfect smile. I melted. I was literally a puddle of rosé. The waitress came over to take our order. I’ll be honest, I didn’t even know there was a menu on the table. I was in a parallel universe and it was just me and the most beautiful man. Without even looking at the waitress, I said, ‘I’ll have the lobster roll.” “Hot or cold,” she said. “What? Cold.” I didn’t care. I wasn’t hungry for anything but attention from this stranger. I think the girls were having a conversation, I’m not really sure. My entire focus was on my connection with and gravitational pull towards this man. I had such tunnel vision that it felt as though he and I were on a date and in a very intense conversation sans words. His eyes said everything I needed to know and his smile said everything I wanted to hear. There was a force pulling my heart toward his and in my mind it looked like gold spun thread with a small locket in the middle. My lobster roll arrived. It was massive and I was not hungry. I asked Devon where her dinner was, and she said, ‘I don’t like seafood. I wanted to bring you here because you said you wanted to get a lobster roll while on this trip.’ Classic Devon, thinking of everyone but herself. I took a bite…daintily…with my fork. There was no way I would manhandle that sandwich full of lobster and mayo and try to take a bite, while having an ‘eye dance’ with my…soulmate??? I’m not sure when his dinner arrived, but at some point, I looked at his plate and realized we ordered the exact same thing. I would take a bite, he would take a bite. I would smile, he would smile. I was essentially on a very romantic date, one booth over and with three other people attending. Finally I went for it. “Where are you guys from?” The friend answers, “Miami.” The most beautiful man answers in a ridiculously sexy accent, ‘Yes, I am from Miami.” I look him dead in the eyes, “No you’re not…where are you FROM?” “Oh,” he says, “Cuba.” I melt. I throw in the white towel, I surrender. How did he just go from a perfect ten to a perfect ten plus?