“Are you okay?” she whispers.
“Yep,” I say. “Let’s keep going. There’s supposed to be different sensory experiences up to the table at the end,” I say, surprising myself with the level of excitement I’m displaying. “Do you have any dietary requirements we should tell them about?” I ask partly because Aiden told me to make sure I tell the server and partly because she makes me bloody nervous and it seems my brain is malfunctioning. Basic conversation skills elude me.
This date is altogether having the opposite effect of what I intended.
Maybe it’s best we go home now. Separately.
“Hmm, I’m not a fan of raw onion,” she answers.
“Really? That’s a shame. There’s raw onion in a lot of excellent dishes.”
She squeezes my hand, and it sends a jolt to my gut. Since when did holding hands become intense?
“Do you like to cook?” she asks.
I can’t remember the last time I cooked a meal for myself. But if I tell her that, it draws attention to the fact I’m well off, and I’m not ready for the conversation to emphasise that gap between us. What I assume is a gap, anyway.
“Sorry, was that question too hard for you?” she teases.
“Hah, no. I love good food,” I say.
“Me too! How do you keep the balance? You’re obviously super healthy.” A hand fumbles around my torso, finding my abs. “All muscle.”
I chuckle at the hand trying to find something to pinch around my waistline and wish I could see her dimpled smile, imagining her vibrant eyes looking at me the way she did when we laughed together last time.
There’s the sound of running water, and as we take a few more steps, there’s a low bell sound above us. “Welcome,” a robotic female voice says. “You are now at the soundscapes. Lie down, get comfortable on the velvet blanket, and allow yourselves to be transported into another world. All blankets are placed fresh for each visitor group.”
Alice snorts from my side. “That’s reassuring,” she says, laughing. “What are people doing at the soundscapes, I wonder.”
The thought of what I’d like to do to her makes me forget to answer, and she nudges me to do as the voice said. We lie down together, and Alice shuffles around until she finds her way into my nook.
I reach up to brush her hair off my mouth and run a hand over her head, following the silky locks of hair down her arm. It’s longer, much longer, than that bob wig she wore last weekend. What colour is it? Her eyes are brown. Maybe it’s dark like them.
“I love this sound,” she says, and only now do I hear the crickets chirping around us. There’s trickling water. A frog in the distance. The whistling of a light breeze in tall grass. I can almost see it.
“This is magical,” she whispers, and I hum in agreement. She tentatively brushes a hand across my chest, as if she’s testing what she’s allowed to do.
“What colour is your hair?” I ask.
“It’s dark brown. What’s yours?”
Her hand moves up my torso, more confident now, to the side of my face and into my hair. I turn and kiss her wrist. Her skin is warm and smooth against my lips.
“It’s dark blond. Almost brown,” I say.
“It’s soft,” she says, dragging her fingers through my hair and burrowing further into my nook.
We’re quiet for a beat. This is a calming place to be.
“Have you heard crickets like these in real life?” she asks.
“I’ve never stopped to notice.”
“I try to appreciate most things. The world is magical.”
Her hand on me is a magical feeling. It’s small, but the heat radiating from it makes it hard to feel anything else. I want it all over me.
“I’m starting to see that,” I murmur into her hair.
