The delectable aromas wafted past her nostrils as each cover was removed. She closed her eyes to inhale. “I could dine on the scents alone.” When she opened them, his gaze was resting on her mouth.

He took an oyster and put it on his plate with a clink of shell on china before passing the rest to her. “We’ll eat family style and share everything.”

“I’ve always wanted to do that at Bouley,” she admitted.

“Do you have a connection at every high-end restaurant in the city?” Luke took a dollop of sea urchin and caviar before passing the spiny shell to her.

“If I don’t, one of my colleagues does. But frankly, your name would get me anything I wanted anywhere in New York City and possibly the whole United States.”

He shook his head. “They don’t like me much in Boston.”

“You ruined their perfect season last year, but they’d still want you at their restaurant, trust me.”

“Maybe to poison me.” He accepted the other half of the Connecticut farm egg.

“Has anyone ever tried to do that?” She dipped into the sea urchin, nearly swooning at the burst of flavors. “Not poison you, but sabotage your food or something before a big game?”

“Not since college.” A look of distaste flitted across his face. “And that wasn’t food. Nowadays the team goes into lockdown at a hotel before big games, partly to prevent anything like that.”

“The sea urchin is fantastic.” She took another bite of the extraordinary dish. “What happened in college?”

He looked away. “They sent a hooker to my room. I still don’t know how she got in when the door was locked.”

She hadn’t meant to bring up dark memories. “You don’t have to tell me any more.”

His gaze returned to her face. “I told her to leave, and the scene got ugly. She’d been paid a lot to keep me awake all night, and she wanted to do her job. It was my first bad experience with the press.”

She imagined him as a young golden boy, still with a glow of innocence even though he was rapidly becoming a star. There was an innate uprightness about him as a man that made her think he would have been shocked by the sordidness of that incident in his youth. “You had to grow up fast.”

“No faster than my teammates.” The planes of his face angled sharply, all the innocence honed away.

“The spotlight was on you, the quarterback, the glory position. That’s more pressure than the others had to deal with.”

“It was my choice.”

“Do we really understand the choices we make at that age?” she asked.

“What choice did you make that has you looking so unhappy?” He put down his fork to give her his full attention, the intensity of his gaze making her feel as though he could see into her mind.

“Not unhappy. I’ve never regretted my decision to leave the farm and move here. But every choice seems to bring along its own burden. My parents were baffled by my ambition to leave the country behind and move to a city they find dirty, ugly, and rude.” She gestured toward the spectacular view with her fork. “They don’t see the magnificence of the architecture, the museums, and the culture. They think what I do, catering to the whims of the very wealthy, is frivolous and unproductive.” Her parents’ dismissive attitude toward her chosen profession, no matter how successful she was, still hurt way down inside.

He spun an empty oyster shell on the plate, watching it rotate before he looked back at her. “My parents don’t know what a two-point conversion is.”

“What?” Astonishment made her voice sharp. “Don’t they watch your games?”

“They claim they do, but”—his shoulders rose and fell on a sigh—“they’re not typical Texans. Football was not on their radar.”

“Not on their radar! You’re the greatest football player who’s ever played—”

He gave her a wry smile. “Some would argue that.”

She dismissed his interruption with a wave of her hand. “I’ve read your bio.” She didn’t care that he knew. “You were bound for glory from high school on. Your parents should have been waving pom-poms at every game.”

“My parents thought I came from a cuckoo’s egg that got laid in their nest. I was supposed to like books, not balls. Especially not the kind where a bunch of violent, brainless men just run into each other.”

She heard the buried hurt in his voice, and it wrung her heart. She wanted to give his mother and father a good talking-to. Even superstars needed their parents’ approval. “So let me guess . . . they applaud what Trevor does?”

“They understand what Trevor does.”

“Wow.” She shook her head in disbelief. “They have a son whose talent and success are brilliant to the point of genius, and they can’t be bothered to understand what he does.” Her voice had gone sharp again, and she made an effort to soften it. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t speak that way about your parents.”

“No, I appreciate the support.” He gave her another wry smile and picked up his fork. “They would disagree with using the word genius as applied to sports.”

“Why can’t our families celebrate our successes without judging them?”

“They think our choices are a comment on theirs.”

“Exactly.” Miranda found it hard to believe that he shared her experience. She remembered the scene in Orin’s office. “Does Trevor feel like your parents do?”