Sowan Writes

If you’re just jumping on this, best you start here.

“Why this place?” I ask Arnold.

It’s only my second time at that seafront restaurant at Base Naval. It’s airy enough for the hot afternoon and I do like watching the waves.

“You said you liked seafood.”

His navy blue v-necked T-shirt is even more fitting today and my thoughts have run amok sitting opposite him all afternoon, staring at that ribbed chest of his.

I’m glad the sun is out, because then I can wear my shades and ogle to my fill, without giving myself away.

It’s been nearly a week since we met at the Tech Store. We’ve texted back and forth during this time, of course, sharing memes and the Internet’s Fool of the Day.

I’ve also since formed an unhealthy habit of daydreaming about what it would be like to have his tongue down my throat, my hands inside his shirt on that rock-hard chest, the warmth of his body next to mine…I clear my throat a bit too loud.

“Uh, ah, yes! I absolutely love seafood.” It doesn’t sound as smooth as I wanted it. If he notices I’m flustered, he pays no mind.

“The shrimp was delicious,” I continue, this time sounding more like myself. It’s also true. The empty shells are the only things left on my plate. His plate is almost clean as well. He’s picked clean the skeleton of the bass, the miondo is all gone as well.

“I’m glad you liked it,” he says. “I enjoy watching you eat. You make it look so tasty.”

“It is tasty,” I say, with emphasis, but I smile.

“You know, I haven’t done this in a long time.”

“Eaten shrimp?” he asks, a little too innocently.

“Lol. Gone out on a first date. If that’s what this is.”

He fixes on me for a moment, then reaches out and takes off my shades.

“I want to see your eyes.” Pause. “You are saying this to make me feel special.”

I stare back.

“It’s true. I broke up with someone I thought was The One months ago. You are the first time I’ve even felt remotely tempted.”

He processes that for a moment.

“Okay. It’s just, I’ve been lied to a lot in the past. When you are committed and —”

“I’m not looking for commitment,” I cut him quickly. “I was just in relationship, remember? Six years. I feel like…like…I mean…I want to be free. Suddenly my age is pressing on me and I don’t…I mean, I don’t want to be in that box anymore.”

He looks at me for a moment, then sips from his glass, next to a half-filled bottle of Guinness.

“What about what I want? Does it matter?”

“I’m saying I’m not looking for commitment of any kind. Best to have this out at the beginning of…whatever. So we all know what our expectations are.”

“Do you care what I want?”

I shake my head.

“That’s selfish.”

“I am selfish. Best to know that early too.”

He starts to say something, then shakes his head. I am tempted to ask, but I let it go. Soon, his glass is empty.

“Ready to leave?” I ask.

“Yeah.”

We walk for bit, side by side, heading to where I’m parked, not saying anything. Then he reaches for my hand. I smile, but still say nothing. Eventually, we are standing next to my car.

“Which way are you headed?” I ask, looking up at him. He is deliciously a head taller.

“Bonaberi. Rail.”

“Hmm. I am going that way myself. Would you prefer to ride with me or hop into a cab?”

“And miss the extra few minutes with you?”

I arch an eyebrow.

“I’m supposed to be the smooth one.”

In the car, Dancing Queen picks up from my Deezer Oldies playlist.

“ABBA!” He shouts and immediately starts belting you can dance!

I laugh. I’m impressed when he moves on to singing She’s a Rainbow. The kid knows the good stuff.

“Nice taste,” I say out loud. “I have to apologize though. I realize if it were the other way round, the guy would have curated some cheesy slows with…who’s popular these days anyway…ah yes, John Legend…Cause I give you all of me…,” I finish, singing.

He laughs.

“That’s the nicest thing anyone has said to me in a while,” he says, and continues after he notices my quizzical expression, “You saying that you want to make a playlist just for me.”

Crossing the bridge somehow seems faster this evening. All too soon, I see the bakery named after the rails, and then he tells me it’s his stop. I indicate and pull over.

“I have one question left,” he says suddenly.

“Make it count,” I remind him.

“Do you like me?”

I look out the window, buying myself a few seconds. When I face him again, I don’t shy away from his eyes.

“Duh.”

It’s his crooked smile now. The kid looks happy.

“Text me when you’re home,” he says.

I am staring at his mouth and thinking of a smooth move to close the considerable distance between us when he just leans in, then stops a millimeter away from my own lips, giving me the chance to pull back.

I’m barely aware of the environment outside. My eyes meet his for a full three seconds before our lips meet.

It’s a sweet kiss, a bit like dipping your feet in water to test its temperature before diving in. I find it warm and inviting.

When we break away, he whispers in my ear, “I’ll most certainly be needing more of that, ma’am.”

To be continued.