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Emma fed him a bite of pancake.
“Mmm, delicious,” he said, appreciative, as she flipped the last pancake onto a nearby plate. He grabbed the syrup from the table and the bowl of berries she’d washed and headed to her breakfast bar.
“I’ll get a separate plate,” she offered, but he waved her off.
“Let’s share one,” he said.
She giggled and then took the tall stack of pancakes to the bar. The coffeemaker dinged, announcing a new full pot of coffee. “Do you want coffee?” she asked him. “Do you even...drink coffee?”
“I do. Black,” he said.
“Oh, too strong for me,” she said, grinning, as she poured her own cup and added a hefty serving of milk so that the cup was almost beige and three big spoonfuls of sugar. “I like it sweet.” He found, with surprise, that he liked that little detail. Now he knew how she took her coffee. Wasn’t that something every long-term couple knew? Usually those kinds of details made him nervous, but suddenly, he was glad to store that bit away. Remember it for later. He wondered what would be her favorite order from Starbucks. He found himself wanting to know more about her, that no detail seemed too small. What was happening to me?
“Syrup?” he asked her, and she nodded.
“Yes, please. As much as you can handle. Sweet tooth, can you tell?” She grinned at him. He doused the stack in syrup and then took a hunk of the stack and offered it to her. She leaned in and took the bite, as he watched her perfectly pink lips wrap around the fork.
“Mmmmmm,” she murmured, closing her eyes. “Delicious.”
“Not as delicious as you,” he said and grabbed a bite for himself. “What’s your favorite meal of the day?”
“Breakfast, by far,” she answered immediately.
“Have you been to Dawn? The new restaurant in the west Loop?”
Emma shook her head.
“I have to take you there,” he said. “You’re going to love it. They have this amazing banana walnut French toast.” Xavier found himself eager to take her to his new favorite brunch place, as soon as possible...maybe even next weekend. The fact that he was already making plans in his head with Emma for the following week should’ve caused him more anxiety, but instead it all just felt right. He’d take Emma out next Sunday, because he’d see her that whole weekend. He’d make sure of it.
“I’d love to go.” She took another bite of pancake and he felt buoyant, upbeat.
“What do you want to do today?” he asked her. “Go out? Stay in?” He pushed his knee against hers.
“Anything you want to do,” she said. “I’ve got no plans.”
“Let’s play it by ear.”
Soon enough, the two polished off their plate of pancakes, Xavier feeling happily full. Usually, he watched his carb and sugar intake. You couldn’t get cut muscles on a diet of junk, but even he had his splurge days. Today would be one of them, he decided. He went into the bedroom to grab his shirt, the air in the apartment suddenly feeling chilly.
He helped Emma clean up the dishes and then he joined her on the couch. She flicked on the TV and he joined her, as the political shows came on.
“I always watch,” Emma said, nodding to the roundtable commentators on the screen. “I like to know what’s going on.”
“Me, too,” Xavier said, surprised to find someone else who was interested in politics. Usually, reality TV took a front seat and news a backseat. Everything I learn about her just makes me love her more. The thought shocked even him. Was he really thinking about love?
They settled in to watch the show and Emma curled up next to him, and the feel of her cuddled under his arm made everything feel right in the world. She pulled up a soft throw and tucked it around them. They just fit together, like they were made for each other. Their passion was amazing, that was true, and yet, here, in this tender moment, Xavier felt content as well. Could they really have both passion and tenderness? Was that even possible? Normally, Xavier felt restless when he sat with a woman—he usually only felt at home when the clothes were off—but here, snuggled in together on a couch beneath a blanket, he felt like there was nowhere else he wanted to be. The restlessness in him evaporated. He could see himself here, on her couch, with her in his arms, watching TV for endless weekends to come.
Was he really settling in? Was he really considering a serious relationship?
Something about Emma just made the whole idea seem not just possible, but inevitable. They fit together in a way he’d never fit with another woman. Could he take the chance that maybe he’d been wrong about relationships? Emma snuggled into him and he felt happy. How could he not take the chance? He wanted this: Emma in his arms, naked and wild on Saturday night, and then tender and cuddly Sunday morning. Maybe he could have both. Maybe he should try.
