AllFreeNovel
Share Us
He's got me there. Even before I started working nights and don't wake up until almost lunchtime, I didn't eat breakfast. "I ate a Caramello Koala. Does that count?
He crooks his finger and it sends a butterfly wing flutter through my body, reminding how it felt when he did that action inside me. I wander over, even wearing my robe, it feels like he can see through it, right through me.
The crooked finger tilts my chin, angling my eyes up to meet his. Then he kisses me. A soft dropping of his lips on mine followed by the trace of his tongue along my bottom lip.
"Yup, definitely Caramello Koala-y."
I giggle, he has me giddy. "I told you. You better get used to it if you—" I clamp my mouth shut.
"If I'm going to keep kissing you? I intend to."
Why does he have no trouble talking about us having a future? Why isn't he ridden with anxiety about the line we've crossed? The answer my head gives me doesn't help. "You intend to keep kissing me, huh? That's bold of you to assume I'm going to let you."
He grins and pours the champagne into two glasses, half way. Orange juice fills the rest of the glass. "It's the least you can do. Considering you won't share your Caramello Koalas and I actually like them, I guess I'm going to have to be content with tasting them on you. Maybe you actually planned it that way." He hands me a glass and I accept it, taking a little sip.
"Me? I would never be so scheming. How could you think that about me?"
I catch him glancing out of the corner of his eye to see if I'm being serious or not. It's too hard to keep a straight face, so when he sees me grinning, he throws his head back in a giant belly laugh.
"Phew, okay, you're joking. I thought your brain had gotten waterlogged after being in the tub for too long."
"My brain could use a little water boarding. Get it to start behaving." I mime shoving something under water.
Instead of laughing, his eyes fill with warmth.
"You know, Rissie, I never thought I'd say this, but you're an incredible woman." He takes a plate and spoons some fruit onto it.
"Well, that's just because you never knew me." And I don't regret saying it. It's not an accusation, it's just the truth. And he had no reason to get to know me. "And I never knew you, either," I say, with a shrug.
He's silent as he picks out a strawberry from the bowl and lays it on the plate. "Well, let's get started now. How do you like waffles?"
"Um, I don't. The fruit is fine." I don't want to tell him it's because it's takes work to look like I do. Some things shouldn't be public knowledge, like they say, you don't want to know how laws and sausages are made.
He doesn't let me get away with it. "Clarissa, when you were little you loved waffles."
Maybe he actually knows me too well. I do love waffles, and in the few times a decade I allow myself one, I want it dusted with confectioners' sugar. And when I say dusted, I mean, I want it to look like a snow storm hit. "Fine. I'll have one then. And don't skimp on the sugar. And some syrup, if you have it."
"You want syrup on your Belgian waffle?" He lowers his voice. "What? Are you trying to get us beat up by a Belgian?"
As if we're sitting in a crowded restaurant, I lean in, dropping my voice conspiratorially. "Shush, you don't have to announce it. If you don't have any, just say that, and we'll go and steal some from the condiments display at the 711."
He guffaws, "Nobody does that..." But when I don't respond, he stops and shakes his head, eyes sad. "No. Oh, Clarissa. There's no shame in it, but I once saw you throw away a whole plate of foie gras because you didn't like the color."
I know I did. But I can't imagine doing that now.
He plops another waffle onto the plate, dumping an entire whole tablespoon of sugar on top. I don't stop him.
"Is that okay?" he asks, handing the plate to me.
I'm shy as I take it, unaccustomed to be taken care of. "Delicious. Did you make these?"
He nods. "I sure did. I went downstairs, saw Marika and said, could you please make me some waffles and freshly squeezed orange juice. And then I brought them up here."
I take a bite and mumble around my full mouth, "That is not the same thing."
He pops a grape into his mouth and crunches down on it. "Ahem, ingrate, I made them appear, didn't I? Don't get caught up in semantics."
I giggle, hungrily shoving a forkful of waffle into my mouth. A plume of sugar wafts, and I reach up to brush it off my face.
