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“Okay,” I say, ignoring every rational thought.
“Okay?” she asks, her eyes going wide. She’s just as shocked as I am by my response.
“Okay,” I reply, pulling her against my chest and stealing another moment of happiness. She melts into me and exhales. How could having this woman in my arms ever be wrong?
“Let’s go to the farmers’ market. I think we could use the fresh air,” she offers.
I nod but don’t let go. Instead, I take her hand, clasping it tightly, and let her lead me out of the apartment.
* * *
We meanderby every booth at the farmers’ market. We share homemade waffles with powdered sugar and fresh fruit while sipping coffee and kissing between bites. Waffles, I now know, are her absolute favorite breakfast food, but she never eats them because her grandmother always told her they were messy and loaded with calories. I want to have waffles delivered to her every day just to see the smile on her face when she takes a bite. It’s magic.She’s magic.
Now the sun is dipping from the sky, reminding me that our time is almost up. We walk hand in hand, enjoying a comfortable silence unlike any I’ve ever had with another person.
Cat breaks the silence. “We still have to figure out the food for the ball,” she reminds me.
I smile down at her. “I’ll take care of it.” Her shoulders droop a bit, and I wrap an arm around her and pull her close. “With you.” I kiss her temple. “I’ll take care of it with you. Promise.”
She sighs. “Okay.”
“Tell me something I don’t know about you,” I insist, trying like hell to focus on her and not our circumstance.
Looking up, she surveys me closely, like she’s memorizing my face, her lips turned to the side in thought.
“I don’t like peanut butter,” she says with a forceful nod.
I laugh. “What?”
“I think it’s the texture. Or the consistency. I don’t know, I’m not a fan,” she says with a smile.
I can’t explain why that was the perfect answer, or why I have a goofy grin on my face, but she makes the gloomy, sunless day vibrant.
“I’d have to agree with you, Kitten. Peanut butter does have a strange texture.”
Her eyes dance. “Thank you!”
We continue hand in hand, wearing matching smiles. “Favorite meal?” she asks.
“Cheeseburger and iced tea,” I reply easily.
She smirks. “Oh yeah, why?”
“Reminds me of a beautiful girl I shared a perfect lunch with.”
“So it was about the company, not the food?” she challenges.
“Probably both. Best lunch I ever had.”
We grin at one another stupidly.
“Favorite singer?” I ask.
She folds her lips, holding back a smile before she admits, “Definitely Mariah Carey.”
I raise both brows at that. “Really?”
She nods. “What about you?”
