The sun was starting to descend when I made my way downstairs, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink that looked almost unreal. The patio doors were open, and I could smell food. It smelled savory and rich that made my stomach growl. Syx was already outside, setting the table. He'd changed too. The light blue button-down with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows complimented by some white linen pants. His feet were covered in some suede band Prada sandals. He wore slim to none jewelry, aside from the Van Cleef & Arpels Vintage Alhambra bracelet on his left wrist. The chef made an appearance in my view too, speaking with Syx as they engaged in conversation, giving me a glimpse of the gold VVs cap grill on his bottom fangs.
He looked up when he heard me, and something flickered in his eyes. It made me catch my breath.
"You look pretty," he said simply.
I felt heat creep up my neck. "Thanks. You clean up nice yourself."
He grinned a real smile that crinkled in the corner of his eyes. "The chef dropped everything off about twenty minutes ago. I was just about to come get you, if you took any longer."
The table was set with actual China. There were white plates with gold trim, cloth napkins, wine glasses that caught the fading sunlight. In the center, covered dishes that smelled incredible.
"This is fancy," I said, trying to keep my voice light and trying not to think about how much this felt like a real date. I really wanted it to.
"You deserve fancy," Syx said, pulling out my chair.
I sat, and he pushed it in gently before taking his own seat across from me. The table was small enough that our knees almost touched and we were close enough that I could smell his cologne. It was woody and clean that mixed with the salty air.
He uncovered the dishes one by one. My eyes roamed in awe at all the vibrant colors. The chef had prepared grilled mahi-mahi with mango salsa, coconut rice, roasted vegetables with glistening olive oil and herbs, and a fresh salad with papaya and avocado.
"Damn," I breathed. "This looks amazing."
"Island cuisine," Syx muttered, pouring wine into both of our glasses. It was white, crisp, and rich. "The chef's from Jamaica originally. She knows her shit."
"I've never had any of this. Memphis has a Jamaican spot in the mall and a local food truck. My best friends have mentioned it to me a few times, but I haven't had the time to sit down and rave about it. As far as the food truck they never stay in one spot, so you know how that goes."
"Yeah," he nodded, sticking the tip of his forefinger in his mouth to suck sauce off of it. "I'm way too familiar with how that shit goes."
We served ourselves in comfortable silence. It was the kind that didn't need to be filled. The sun continued its slow descent, turning the ocean into liquid gold. Then a breeze rolled in, warm and gentle, carrying the scent of jasmine from somewhere in the garden.
I took a bite of the fish and nearly moaned. "Oh my God."
Syx grinned. "Good?"
"So good." I nodded, while taking another bite, then a sip of wine. The flavors complemented each other perfectly. It was the sweetness of the mango and the savory fish, on top of the crisp wine cutting through it all.
We ate for a while, just enjoying the food and the view, but I could feel his eyes on me. Not in a creepy way, but in that way he had of really looking at someone, as if he was seeing me for the first time.
"So tell me something," he spoke finally, gnawing at the silence, setting down his fork. "What do you do when you're not working? Who's the real you?"
The question caught me off guard. Over the past week, we'd talked so much about my marriage, my body and my fears, but not really about the mundane details of my actual life.
I shrugged, suddenly feeling self-conscious. "I don't know. I'm boring. Nothing about my life is interesting, honestly."
"I doubt that." He leaned back in his chair, wine glass in hand, then took a sip, giving me his full attention. "I see right through you Nyne. Whatchu' do for fun?"
I thought about it, taking another sip of wine to buy myself time. "I do yoga. That's probably my main thing. I try to go to a class at least three times a week."
"Yeah?" He looked genuinely interested. "What kind?"
"Vinyasa, mostly. Sometimes hot yoga if I'm feeling masochistic." I smiled at the last bit of my sentence. "It helps me get out of my head, you know? It forces me to focus on my body and breath. Often, it quiets all the noise up here." I tapped my temple.
He nodded slowly. "I get that. That's what the gym does for me."
"I can tell you work out a lot," I retorted, swarming my eyes over his visible physique.
"Every day if I can. Weights, mostly and some cardio." He flexed his arm slightly, and I tried not to stare at the way his bicep moved under his skin. "Keeps me sane and gives me somewhere to put all the energy."
I could imagine him in the gym focused and intense, pushing himself the way he pushed me to cum, using words of encouragement. The image did things to me I tried to ignore.
