I slowly squeeze my legs together, discretely checking my slickness. Apparently, sincere apologies and self-humbling behaviors from an extremely attractive asshole did, in fact, turn me on. “Um, wow, Mr. Flores, sir. Yes, please—I mean—I accept. I accept your apology, and thank you for apologizing.”
He smiles, a small one, not a full-watt, and I fixate on his crooked front tooth. “Of course.”
We stand there looking at one another, and I’m thinking how unfair it is when men have both longandthick eyelashes, when a mom wearing hundreds of dollars of coral colored athleisure runs over my toe with her gigantic stroller.
“Watch it—” I start, but she’s already hurried away, the ice shaking in her iced latte a fading sound.
I look back at him, but the surly bureaucrat I know has returned. He nods and starts walking away.
“Wait!” I race after him.
He turns, sighing.
I don’t want him to leave yet. “What… What are you cooking?”
He shifts on his feet. “I’m making the most of the end of tomato season. I’m making tomato sauce, gazpacho, and a tomato tartine.”
“A what?”
“A tomato sauce, gazpacho, and a tomato tartine,” he repeats.
“I heard you the first time. But what’s that last thing?” I ask impatiently.
“A tartine. It’s… a tart,” he says simply.
“So why can’t you just call it a tart?” I ask.
“Testing my patience so soon after mutual apologies?” he asks sternly, eyebrow raised, but there is a shadow of a smile on his face.
I salute. “Sorry, sir.”
He turns away quickly. We amble in the same direction, as he stops to poke at tomatoes at various stands.
“I didn’t know there was a tomato season. Of course you would know peak vegetable months,” I tell him, after watching his strong hands squeeze yet another tomato. I wonder what it would feel like squeezing my?—
“Have you tried one?” he asks me.
I shake my head, indicating no, but also trying to rid that stray thought from my head. He picks up a cherry tomato from a little container and drops it in my hand.
“Try it,” he tells me.
He watches me closely as I bring it to my mouth, watches as my lips close around it as I pop it in. He stares at my mouth for longer than necessary, even after I finish chewing and swallow it down. He shakes his head in the same way I just did, turning to look back at the table.
“It’s amazing,” I tell him, and I’m not kidding. “It’s really sweet.”
He grunts. We’re back to cave dweller noises. I take it as a cue that he needs a change of environment. I touch his arm again, mostly because I want to make sure I wasn’t hallucinating his muscles. I wasn’t.
“Mr. Flores,” I blurt out, feeling strangely impulsive.
He looks at me again.
“Wanna get out of here?” I askmy boss, only flinching a little.What are you doing?
His only reaction is an eyebrow lifting.
“It’ll be fun. An adventure. I promise.”
A beat passes, then, “What about me screams ‘spontaneous adventurer’ to you?”
