Read Changing Scenes (Changing Teams #2) for Free Online Page A

sausage?” I asked, and he laughed. “That’s really more of a third date kind of question.”
    “Okay, so we’ve gotta come here two more times before I bring up sausage again,” Donnie said, and it was my turn to laugh. He stopped and scrutinized some gigantic crab legs splayed out like briny red swords. “Listen, you want to know why I brought you here?”
    “Sure.”
    “This is who I am. Well, not a fishmonger, but I’m a cook. I’m a regular guy, not some fancy New York dude like you’re used to. I just thought that if you could see the real me, I’d know if you liked me.”
    “Why wouldn’t I like the real you?”
    “You seemed put off by my sausage.”
    I frowned to keep from laughing and swatted his shoulder. “New rule—we do not discuss your sausage in public.”
    “Private, then?”
    “Maybe.” I slipped my hand against his and squeezed. “Just so you know, the real you’s not bad, and I thought that before the fish.”
    Donnie smiled and squeezed back. “Good to know.”
    Once Donnie had all the fish he came for, we collected the smaller orders and headed back to the van. I helped him load up the crates and sacks, then he opened the passenger side door for me.
    “Hey,” he said.
    I paused with one foot in the van. “What?” I asked, turning to face him. Instead of replying he slid his arms around my waist and kissed me.
    “This,” he said when we parted. “And this,” he added, kissing me again. I parted my lips beneath his and let him deepen the kiss. Donnie was right; he wasn’t like the guys I met and sometimes dated in the city. He was sweet and kind and genuine, and if he didn’t have a van full of fish and clams on ice, I’d drag him back there and show him how much I really did like him.
    When we parted he pressed his forehead against mine, his hands cupping my face while his thumbs traced little circles on my jaw. “So this really is a date?”
    “I guess so,” I replied.
    He grinned. “Any chance we can do this again?”
    “With or without the fish?”
    The grin widened. “Whatever you want, babe.”
    “Then yes.”
    Donnie kissed my nose, then he helped me into the van and went over to his side. Once he was behind the wheel, he grabbed my hand. “C’mon, babe, let’s grab some breakfast.”
     
    ***
     
    We had breakfast at a nearby diner that all the fish market people, shoppers and sellers alike, seemed to frequent. Donnie and I claimed a booth in the back and grabbed menus from the napkin stand.
    “Is this place good?” I asked.
    “Good enough,” he replied. “Hard to screw up eggs, you know?”
    A waitress appeared at the end of the table and set down a carafe of coffee and two mugs, then left without saying a word. I made a mental note to not stumble around like a zombie at Al’s. “What if I wanted water?” I mumbled. “Or juice?”
    “There’s water in coffee.” Donnie grinned as he poured the coffee. “And we can order juice. Tell me what models eat for breakfast.”
    “Whatever’s available, really.” I scanned the menu, not that I’d expected anything beyond standard breakfast fare. “What do chefs eat for breakfast?”
    “Honestly? Leftovers.”
    We laughed again, and I realized a few things. The first was that this midnight trip to buy seafood was the best first date I’d ever had. The second was that Donnie might just be the nicest guy I’d ever met. And the third was the fact that I wanted to see him again. I wanted it a lot.
    In my infinite wisdom I decided to play it cool, and we engaged in nothing more than some casual small talk over breakfast. After Donnie took care of the bill we hopped in the van and he drove me back to my building.
    “Here’s my stop,” I said as he pulled up to the curb. “I had a good time.”
    “Bet no one ever took you to a fish market at midnight before,” he said.
    “You’re right,” I said, then I leaned over and kissed him.
    When we parted, he asked, “You never told me, did you roast