He stands outside the apartment, phone in one hand giving me directions, other hand waving me down, unperturbed by the incomprehensible stress I am conveying on the phone because I'm not sure how to find his apartment. I am noticably tense simply for driving around the complex. He takes no note, and greets me with a hug that feels good, like climbing into a warm, comfy bed of clean sheets and blankets feels, particularly when you've wearing some of your favorite pjs and have just gotten out of the bath and thus were a little chilly until you slid into that bed. Ahh.
We go out for sushi with his family. We slip our chairs a little closer. We hold hands under the table. We split our chopsticks apart like a wishbone; the person with the bigger piece gets their wish and I win both times. He puts the wasabi in my dish for me because I like it when he does that. We share a plate of sushi and find a new favorite, the rainbow roll. ("All the good stuff combined into one!") We compliment me for not being completely inept with the chopsticks, which is an improvement over the fifty times prior when I was quite nearly inept. Look! Sometimes I can pick stuff up with them! Yay!
We steal kisses in his truck. Passionate, hungry kisses. Loving kisses. He motions for me to sit next to him in the truck, in the middle, right next to him.
Back at his apartment we set the cushions from the couch on the floor in front of the tv. "Watch with me! Watch with me!" I say excitedly. He watches my new favorite show with me that I have taped and brought over. We sit semi-reclined, his arm around me, my hand on his chest, mostly able to ignore the attraction between us. After the show we rehash all the parts we liked, discuss the characters, the show development, its future, and its comparison to other shows.
His sister leaves and we kiss freely, the embrace of lovers.
We sit in the tub, close our eyes, and let the shower rain gently upon us. We sit there in peace, together.
"Here comes a very happy girl!" I announce, giggling (except I don't giggle), as I come up the stairs carrying a donut atop a box of Valentine's chocolates I stole for myself. "Not a dietetics student, though," I add. Later, I say in mock, exaggerated incredulity, "I don't know how five, maybe six of your chocolates disappeared!"
I curl up next to TNG in bed, knowing he won't make too much fun of me if I doze off and drool, while he does some homework. The coffee he fixed for me earlier helps, but it's midnight and I'm awfully sleepy. I drift off quite comfortable.
At two a.m, he joins me. "It feels so good to hold you," he whispers as he takes me into his arms. We doze off together, curled together.
"What time is it?" I ask. "8:37," he replies. We were to get up early to enjoy coffee and donuts and stretch the hours we had together. "What time is the alarm set for?" I ask. "Seven," he replies. "PM," he amends. "Dork," I tease. We've had infamous morning battles in the past about what time to get up, how many times to hit snooze, who's to turn off the alarm, and alarm setting mistakes such as this one. Not today.
We can't bring ourselves to get out of bed for another hour yet. We lay in each other's arms, we lay nose to nose, stare into each other's eyes, caress each other's faces, and talk. We talk about our future life. I want pets, but I'm half-joking. We both want a modest surround-sound system so we can watch movies together. I think the person who cooks dinner shouldn't be the one who has to do the dishes; he agrees. I want someone to always help me carry in groceries from the store, and I want someone else to usually take out the trash. No problem, he says.
We get up. I come downstairs after getting dressed to find he's fixed us coffee and donuts. He wants to hear my Oral Interpretation piece and I perform for him. He's so sweet to ask, so sweet to compliment me. We sit and talk. We can never stop talking. We talk about the book, about performing, about mother-daughter relationships, we talk.
Now we're out of time. In our fashion, we go about. We surely have time to stop inside this cool furniture store, don't we? We have the same taste. We can go in the Apple store for just a minute, right? Fifteen minutes left for gas and lunch! He fills up my tank for me. We grab a bite to eat. We run back to the apartment. I pack my clothes upstairs to find he's carried my belongings downstairs to the car for me already. He sends me off with one last piece of chocolate and two donuts hidden inside a napkin in my sack of lunch as a surprise, only fifteen minutes past my "absolute last minute". "I don't want to go," I say again. More delicious hugs and kisses, but this the parting kind.
He has given me his bank card. "For groceries," he says. "I don't want you to worry." Such comforting words, I get teary eyed at their wondrousness. "I don't want to take your money," I finally say, when words will come. "Just keep it," he replies, "just in case." I hug him some more. He tells me, "The next time you really want something you won't let yourself buy, buy it, because you know I'd buy it for you."
I love you. I love you, too.
