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To Marissa
I’m sorry
If you change your mind I’m always down for a girls’ night out
Or in
Whatever you need, I’m there
She blows me a kiss emoji.
From Marissa
I know, hon, thanks for the support. Now stop texting with me and go be loved
I send her a kiss and heed the advice.
When I get out of the bathroom, the sky is stormier and darker than ever, but the house is ablaze in firelight. The fireplace is lit and burning candles are scattered everywhere: on the kitchen counter, on the cabinets, and on the bookshelves. The only free surface is the large coffee table on the living room rug where Gabriel has set dinner for two. After our light lunch, I’m already hungry again.
He stands in front of the coffee table, wearing a black button-down shirt with the top two buttons undone and worn-out jeans, looking even more delicious than the food on the table.
I, on the contrary, am still in larva wear.
“Hello, beautiful.”
“You’re very… homely,” I marvel.
“I do try.” He shoots me a smile.
“This looks amazing.” I point at the candlelight. “Quite the fire hazard.”
He raises an eyebrow at me.
“Sorry, when I’m nervous I blab the silliest things. This is beautiful, period. I mean, thank you.”
“Now, now.” He casually strolls toward me and grabs me by the hips. “Exactly how nervous do I make you?”
“Oh, you know…” I try to keep my tone coherent but lose my train of thought when he nuzzles my neck.
He leans in, his warm breath tickling my ear. “Tell me.”
My legs go wobbly. “You make me—”
He bites my earlobe. “Yeah?”
My chest is heaving. “I can’t articulate if you keep distracting me.”
His muscles flex under his shirt as he chuckles.
“Let’s eat before everything goes cold; we’ll resume the topic later.”
Right now, gourmet food sounds like the worst thing that could happen to me. Hungry or not, I’d gladly skip dinner to have Gabriel press against me again. But I sit on the rug, legs crossed in front of me as if I’m still a functioning human being and not a messy heap of flesh, bones, and yearning.
I take in the artistically arranged food and frown. “This looks very haute cuisine; did you make it?”
He smirks. “No, I keep a few fancy meals in the freezer in case I get a craving when I’m up here.”
I study his plate. Mine is fish while his is white meat. “Is that why we’re having different things?”
