“Hey, beautiful.” I opened her car door and reached for her hand.
“Hey, you.” Her lips curved into a smile. The familiar scent of vanilla and flowers permeated my nostrils as I pulled her into me. I put my hands around her waist while her hands rested on my neck. I looked down into her eyes, and I knew she was my forever.
“You look so damn good. You know that, right?”
She had on a simple black, fitted maxi with a low-cut back that hugged her in all the right places. I never missed an opportunity to compliment her.
“Thank you. I’ve missed you.”
“I’ve missed you. It’s been seven days too long. Come on.” I took her hand in mine and led her in.
Upon walking in, the smell of seasoned meat had taken over the kitchen, and it smelled damn good.
“What’s on the menu this evening? You weren’t lying when you told me your house was like the one in South Beach. It’s damn near identical. How did that happen?” She bypassed me, walked around, and paused like she was unsure of what direction to go in. A few seconds passed, and she headed straight for the couch in my living room and plopped down.
“Grilled lobster, steak kabobs, asparagus, and baked potatoes,” I called out from the kitchen. I had an open concept type of situation in the common areas because I didn’t want everything so closed off.
“I just know this meal is going to touch my soul.”
“You already know it is, beautiful.”
“Come over and sit with me for a minute.” She looked at me and patted her hand on the seat beside her.
“Aight. Let me pour us something real quick.”
She nodded and took her phone out. Something was on her mind. She had this puzzled look on her face.
I poured two neat whiskey drinks using my aged scotch that was in my gun-shaped liquor decanter. I grabbed a lemon, cut it, and put a lemon slice on the rim of hers. Knowing her, I was sure she’d need a palate cleanser with this shit. It was strong as fuck.
“Take this, and don’t sit it down either,” I said with a straight face and handed her the glass, even though I was laughing on the inside.
“Why?” Her eyebrow raised.
“Because if you sit it down, you’ll end up babysitting the shit, and I won’t allow it.”
“You are a piece of work. You know that, right?’
“Aye, so I’ve been told. I don’t see you complaining, though.”
“Uh huh. Whatever.” She rolled her eyes. Not in a flirtatious way either.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
“Nothing. Let’s just drink right now.”
She crossed her legs and folded her arms with her drink still in hand. Something was up, and I needed to know right away, because if she thought she would sit up and act like that the rest of the evening, then she had another think coming.
“Cheers.” I raised my glass, and she followed suit.
“Cheers,” she spoke quietly. Her tone was dry and unenthusiastic.
“Drink so we can talk ’cause I can’t take this shit any longer.” I knocked back the light-brown, room-temperature scotch.
She swallowed a nice enough amount of it and quickly bit into the lemon slice to clear the taste from her mouth.
“You alright, beautiful?”
“I am. What is this, and is it two hundred years old? Because damn.”
