“I’ve made peace with wearing comfortable shoes when with y–”
Summer’s feet stopped moving, forcing mine to do the same. The usually lively trolley was nearly void of light completely. The battery-powered candle lights were all that kept the cart from being pitch black. To the far right, near the back of the trolley was a table set for two.
A white cloth covered the table. Dinnerware clung to their positions as the trolley wheels began rolling again. Summer was paralyzed.
With something.
Be it fear.
Overwhelm.
Adoration.
Gratitude.
Disappointment.
Amusement.
Astonishment.
Her face wasn’t the simplest to read because it was completely blank. Void of emotion.
Did I fuck up? I wondered.
Does she hate it?
“Say something, Summer.”
Anticipation wouldn’t allow me to be silent much longer.
She shook her head, attempting to find words.
“I– Saul–”
“We can do something else if you’d prefer.”
“No. No. This is perfect. I just– How’d you? How? No one is here but us. Where are the– where’s everyone? And how’d this table– Saul.”
The way she said my name…
As if she was in immediate need of me. Or something I had to offer. Of everything I had to offer. As if she was deprived. I loved that shit. Being needed. Feeling needed. Being desired. Knowing that someone wanted something to do with me and not because they were blood and it was somewhat of an obligation to put up with a nigga.
“After you–”
I extended my arm, waiting until she was walking again before I joined. She made it to the table and slid across the seat. I did the same, directly in front of her. As we settled in, the host for the evening joined us.
Chef Louis.
“Good evening, Ma’am. Sir. Welcome aboard. I’m Chef Louis, Head Chef at Solo ArtHouse. Tonight’s dinner will include some of our house favorites with a Louis twist. Shall we get started with water or wine?”
“Both.” Summer giggled.
“Both, then,” I emphasized.
Whatever the lady wants.
Summer propped her hand underneath her chin and stared at me through those dreamy eyes.