“I love it.”
“You haven’t even tasted it yet.” I laugh, but it’s more to calm down my heart pulsing at her sentence. She didn’t say she loves me exactly, and it’s probably too early for me to hope for something as serious as those three words.
Still, my heart pounds. Being around Lily makes me feel included and understood. It’s hard not to fall in love with that feeling, or the person responsible for it.
Lily turns in my arms, mumbles something about me being good at everything, so the food must be spectacular. It’s hard to tell exactly what she’s saying in between the kisses I pepper across her face.
Two bites into the meal, Liliana sat across my dining room table, she tells me for what feels like the tenth time, that the food is amazing. I reveal that it’s a recipe I found on a cooking blog. I followed it closely—and still messed up—so it’s nothing special. Lily smiles anyways and says I’m skilled at making something beautiful out of nothing.
After we finish eating and debating over dystopian film franchises, she claps her hands and starts rubbing them together comically.
“So, what’s for dessert?” She has a wicked grin on her face. Like she thinks I haven’t planned that out, and she caught me red-handed. “And don’t say I’m dessert.”
I fake shock, dramatically dropping my jaw. “Why not?”
“I know how that mouth works, and you can think of a better line than that.”
The innuendo sends heat straight to my cock. I shuffle in my chair and will it away. Not yet.
I need to change the subject before my testosterone hijacks my senses. Liliana leaning over the hardwood of my table leaves little to the imagination, and I can’t lose control before I ask her what I want to.
“Actually, I bought dessert.”
“Oh.” She looks genuinely surprised.
“That shocks you?” I stand up, head to my fridge, and rearrange the half hard-on in my pants.
“Shock is a strong word.” Her round eyes follow as I walk back to the table, white takeout box in one hand and two forks in the other. Sitting next to her, I place the box between us. “I feellike you’re more go-with-the-flow. Not so much a planner sort of guy.”
I shrug and hand her a fork. “I’m usually not.”
Lily may not have noticed, but I think we’ve changed each other for the better. I was never a planner or particularly organized, but she keeps me in check. I do better because I want to be better for her.
And she’s become more spontaneous and willing to go off schedule. Not so addicted to following the book, and more willing to give her mind and body a break. I’m proud of being a part of that. She deserves it.
I like planning things for her. I like going the extra mile to show her she’s my exception. Tonight, I hope she feels the same way.
The lid of the box pops open, and I slowly slide the two slices of dessert out, making sure not to scrape the frosting off the sides.
“Is that…” Lily points her fork to the dessert, lips parted. “A hazelnut mocha cake?”
I nod. “Which slice do you want?”
“Wait.” She waves her hands back and forth. My eyebrows raise. “How do you know what my favorite cake is?”
“So I got it right?” I smirk in triumph and mentally high-five the past version of myself.
“How do you know?” Lily asks again, voice raised in amazement.
“In undergrad, I was driving you home. You pointed to a boba place and said they had the best cake. I went today and guessed it was this one, because you like hazelnut.”
I say it casually, because that’s what it is. Me remembering a detail about someone I care for. It costs me nothing to keep a list of her likes and dislikes stored away in my brain. But Liliana’seyes go wide, glossed over with emotion. Under the table, her free hand touches my knee.
“How do you remember so many things about me?”
Her voice is small, like something so simple holds the meaning to the world. I suppose I can’t blame her, because in a way, I feel like that too.
The warmth of her hand presses against my knee familiarly, like it did over the skin of my wrist.
