“Oh, is that a fact?” A grin tugs at his lips.
“A truth if I ever heard one about food,” I say, shrugging, my smile already giving me away.
“You want to order something?”
“I already had a look.” My smile turns mischievous.
“You have to see the dessert menu first, don’t you?” he teases.
I giggle. “The passion fruit mousse is calling my name today.”
“I would say let’s share, but I think I’d be crossing into enemy territory.”
“And you’d be right,” I say solemnly. “Unless you get one yourself. Then I’d be happy to share. Because I, of course, would want to try some of yours. It’s only fair.”
He nods like this is a very reasonable negotiation. “Of course.”
The night has fully settled now, the cooler air curling around me like a gentle reminder that time is passing whether I want it to or not. Everything is bathed in the warm glow of tiki torches and fairy lights, the flickering light reflecting the warmth that’s settled between us tonight.
Our desserts arrive almost immediately—the passion fruit mousse and a slice ofbrigadeirocake. The scents drift up toward me and I swear I can practically see them, like in the movies, swirling dramatically up my nostrils as if they know they’re about to change my life.
I take a bite of the mousse, and the moment it hits my tongue, it’s like my mouth has decided to break into song. A burst of tangy citrus followed by a creamy smoothness that melts instantly. It’s a whole orchestra of flavor notes playing at once.
I can’t help the little noise of delight that escapes me.
“Wow, that must be a good mousse there,” he says, trying—and failing—to hide his laughter.
“It’s unreal,” I exhale. “You have to try some. It’s too good to not share.”
“I’d love to, but I think you need to try this cake first.” He smiles, scooping up a bite and holding it out toward me.
He brings the spoon to my lips, and I let him feed me a bite, my heart doing something strange and fluttery that I pretend not to notice.
“You’ve got a little something, here,” he says, pointing near my mouth. He leans forward slightly, his fingers brushing beside my lips to wipe it away.
The touch is brief, gentle… and somehow feels like it leaves a branded mark on my skin long after his hand is gone.
The cake is delicious.
But not nearly as delicious as his hand brushing my face.
The moment feels charged, almost suspended in the air between us. For a split second, it feels like everything could tip forward into a kiss if neither of us moves.
I break the moment, though. Not abruptly. Just enough to reset the balance.
I don’t want our first kiss to happen casually, while we’re sitting at a dinner table with half-eaten dessert between us. Something about that feels too rushed, too unintentional for something that could mean so much.
But I do want to be kissed.
The thought of his lips on mine ignites something in me I’ve never felt before—warm, electric, and a little terrifying all at once.
Would a kiss help me make my decision? Whether I stay and explore this… or go back to the life I thought I was supposed to live?
Or would it only tangle my heart even more?
All I know is that the possibility of it lingers in the air between us, just out of reach, making everything feel brighter, deeper, and somehow more real than it did an hour ago.
And that the thought of his lips on mine ignites me in a way I’ve never felt.
