Right. I nod, rubbing the spot he’d touched me.
“I’ll find us a seat then.”
Thankfully, there are a couple of tables free. I choose the one beside the window, overlooking the street. Marlon arrives with our food not long after. I shoot a few photos of the baked goods, planning to post them on my socials, and mentally note down that I’ll need to bring my family here one day.
“Oh, before I forget.”
I reach into my tote bag and pull out the crocheted keychain. Marlon follows my every movement, his eyebrows scrunching in confusion as I place the keychain in front of him.
He reaches forward, taking the keychain between his fingers.
“Is this for me?”
His eyes bear into mine, and I look away.
“Yeah, maybe. It reminded me of Sailor Moon, so I thought you’d like it.”
“Aw, Garcia,” he coos. He stands up abruptly, and attaches the keychain onto his jeans loop, before sitting back down, “Aren’t you thoughtful, thinking of me.”
“Shut up, it was a two-for-one deal,” I say, but my ears boil as Marlon’s lips widen.
“This is matching with your moon one on your tote bag isn’t it? I thought so.”
I roll my eyes, but my face continues to heat.
“Whatever. Let’s eat.”
I reach for my pandesal, but Marlon slaps my hand away. That’s when he takes out his phone, and points it in my direction. I quirk a brow.
“What are you doing?”
He smiles.
“Taking a photo of you, for my Mum obviously. Here, take my hand. Let’s do one of those couple-style photos.”
He thrusts his right hand in front, invitingly. I stare at it.
“Do you not know how to hold my hand?” Marlon asks and I roll my eyes.
“Shut up, idiot.”
I slide my fingers through his, curling them in and hope he doesn’t feel the shudder that presses through me. Marlon positions our hands strategically over the food, and with his free one, captures multiple shots and angles of our little display. We cannot pry our hands apart fast enough once he’s finished.
He stretches his fingers a mere moment before picking up his buko pie, the crumbs falling clumsily onto the plate.
“Let’s dive in,” Marlon announces.
We eat in silence for a bit, listening to the sweet OPM tunes that play over the restaurant speaker, before Marlon says, “So what’s your flirting game like?”
A pandesal crumb lodges itself in my throat, and I cough violently. Marlon presses the glass of table water frantically against my lips, and I take it. Once it’s cleared, he barks out a laugh.
“What kind of question is that?” I demand, wiping the water from my lips.
“I’m just asking, what your flirting game is like. Especially now you’re further in Rafayel’s radar.”
“God, you say that like it’s easy to just flirt.”
Marlon leans forward suddenly, his features softening, gaze fixated on mine. His eyes swim with a balance of vulnerability, intrigue and a seductive invitation. Then, his hand reaches up, the same hand that held mine, and his fingers brush over my cheekbone.
