Page 53 of Kisses Behind the Spotlight

-Xain

Slipping out of bed, I decided to get my life together. Shower, fresh clothes, breakfast, and fresh linen were all completed by the time Xain knocked at my door. The weather was slightly chilly, and I wore a simple long-sleeve Alo set to fit any occasion.

When I swung the door open, Xain was comfortably dressed in a black jogger set. I smiled, happy to see we were on the same page when it came to dressing comfortably. My nerves were a wreck, wondering if I’d gotten it right.

“Good morning, beautiful. How are you feeling?” Xain greeted me with a smile.

“I’m feeling refreshed. Thank you for being there for me yesterday.”

“I told you not to thank me. Can I hug you?”

“Please don’t treat me like a basket case now. You can hug me,” I assured him.

Xain nodded and leaned in, embracing me. His scent was etched into my brain, and I enjoyed it more and more every time I got close to him. When we broke the hug, Xain took my hand in his and led us away from my riad. I was used to planning everything for everyone, so I was giddy inside to see what Xain pulled together for us.

“I just wanted to make sure and be respectful. You already ran away and tried to act like I didn’t exist after spending what I thought was an amazing night together,” Xain clarified.

“I got scared. We are co-workers. I didn’t want Q to know. He already had his suspicions. He told me that he didn’t send you to the club. He didn’t even know I left, and the notifications go to both of y’all,” I commented, watching a smile spread across his face again.

“I did what I had to do,” Xain laughed.

“How did you know I left?”

“You and those loud-ass women walked past my riad talking shit while I was sitting on the terrace. Better that I heard y’all plans for the night than a stranger. Don’t do shit like that. Know where y’all are going before stepping outside, and at least be quiet about it if you must discuss it outside,” he requested.

“Noted,” I nodded.

We continued through the narrow, winding corridors. Instead of heading toward the valet stand, Xain kept trekking toward the right side. My eyes landed on the waiting scooter with two helmets hanging off the side. I tugged on Xain’s arms, excitedly bouncing on the balls of my feet.

“Is the scooter for us?”

“It is. Our primary mode of transportation will be the scooter,” Xain explained.

I released my grip on his hand and rushed to the scooter. Grabbing one of the helmets, I quickly adjusted it, then helped Xain with his. I was ready to roll. Xain climbed onto the scooter, then reached for my hand to help me on. Chivalrous. I got comfortable on the scooter, settling my feet on the passenger pegs. Xain started the scooter, and I felt the vibrations beneath me. I pulled out my phone to snap a few pictures. Once I was done, I slipped my phone back into my cross-body bag and wrapped my arms around Xain’s waist.

“You got a good grip?”

“Yes,” I bubbled. My face pressed against his back in anticipation.

Xain took off towards the horseshoe archway entrance. We joined afternoon traffic, leaving behind the grandeur of the hotel as we headed to an unknown destination. The wind whipped against my face, and I held onto Xain with one arm, sitting up to bask in the moment. We hit a few bumps, and the scooter bounced around, making me regain my grip on Xain.

“You good?”

“I’m amazing!” I shrieked.

The sun-warmed streets felt familiar when we sped towards the souks. I didn’t care what else we did that day, the scooter ride was enough for me. However, Xain had the afternoon planned out, and the first thing was shopping. I was able to take my time, stopping at every stall my heart desired, grabbing a few things I wanted on Xain’s dime. A nice leather belt for Noah, bracelets, a few scarves and bangles for myself, and a pair of slippers for my baby brother, Maurice.

After buying the slippers, Xain collected the bag and turned for us to rejoin the foot traffic. “Do you like almonds?”

“I love them,” I confirmed.

“Alright. Come on. Have you ever tried a briwat before?”

“No. What is it?”

“It’s an almond pastry. I love them,” he informed me.

I trekked beside Xain as we approached the stall he’d mentioned. He ordered for both of us, and I allowed it, happily accepting the Moroccan pastry. The man handed us a small paper bag and a few napkins. I bit into the briwat. The crisp and flaky pastry held an almond and honey paste.