The restaurant Alexchose this year isn't Valentino's—it's a new place that's become ours over the past few months. The dinner plates are cleared, and I notice a small dance floor where a few couples sway to soft music.
Alex stands and extends his hand. "Dance with me."
I blink in surprise. "You dance?"
"No. But I'll try for you."
On the floor, he's endearingly awkward at first, stiff-limbed and too focused. I guide his hand to my waist, press closer, and gradually, he relaxes. We're barely dancing, just swaying in a small circle, my head against his chest, his heartbeat steady under my ear.
The music wraps around us, and suddenly the weight of this moment, this year together, fills my chest with something too big to contain.
"I love you," I whisper.
"I love you too, Em, so fucking much it should be terrifying. Or maybe just plain illegal.”
"Best Valentine's Day ever."
"Better than last year?"
"Hmm. On second thought, jury's still out on that one."
His arms tighten around me. "We have a lot more Valentine's Days ahead of us."
"Promise?"
In the dim light, with music swirling around us, Alex's face splits into a smile.
“That’s a promise."
EXTENDED EPILOGUE
CROISSANT
Sometime later…
Just thought I’d leap in here to get a few things straight after those two characters basically held me captive, hostage really, and suppressed my voice for the whole of this story.
No Valentine Card for me, it seems. Inexcusable.
That woman, I can barely say her name, but it starts with an ‘E’, has never even once offered me a croissant despite the indignity she bestowed on me of naming me after the goddamn pastry. The very least she could do is let me taste what all her excitement is about.
I had to take the matter into my own paws and raid the kitchen one morning while those two were, yet again, at the two-backed monster game. And, once again, playing in the damned shower. As disgusting, unhygienic and dangerous as that is for me. They leave the floor in there as slippery as, well, I’m not sure what. But there’s no traction for me when I’m trying to play with the water drips.
And it’s not just soap; they seem to enjoy producing multiple other liquids while they are in there, soaping each other up. Squishing, rubbing and exchanging fluids.
I’ve seen them. They never tidy up afterwards, either. They always need a rest, poor dears.
If it’s so goddamn tiring, why not sleep first!
Anyway, I sprang up on the kitchen bench and sampled her prized pastry for myself. And well, my verdict: absolutely revolting.
A word of advice from a feline connoisseur: avoid croissants at all costs.
Now, on the other paw, bagels? Love ‘em.
The more cream or cheese, the better. On anything. Everything.
As for himwhose name shall never pass my lips, but it starts with an “A”, comparing me to that jumped-up, tacky celebrity tabby, Garfield, is reprehensible, and I could probably sue. Probably will, we’ll see what happens there.
