Page 32 of Love Walked In

Mari pulled on her blue pants and jumper, hiding the red tulip but leaving the daffodil and apricot blossoms. Once she’d left the room, I looked up at the ceiling and exhaled hard, trying to calm the chaos of feelings Mari’s story had whipped up.

It was no good. All I wanted was to plant a garden for her. Fill it with color and scent, humming bees and birdsong, a lush little paradise where she could sit under a tree and read while I drew.

It was a mad thought on multiple levels. I had no idea how to grow anything. I didn’t have a back garden. And she wasn’t bloody staying .

We only had now, and I needed to savor every second she gave me, not piss them away with hoping and wishing.

I climbed into pants and trousers and slipped my glasses back on, Mari’s tender touch resonating like the last note of a love song. When I got to the tiny kitchen and saw her rummaging around, a flash of guilt struck. “I’m so sorry, I should have run to the shops before you arrived.”

“No problem. I think I’ve found enough to work with.

The host left us some cheap white bread and butter.

” I watched as she dug around in the cabinets and found half a bag of sugar, an ancient jar of ground cinnamon, and some hot cocoa mix.

She popped two slices of bread in the toaster on the counter, filled the kettle with water, and put it on to boil.

I shifted from foot to foot, waiting for her to ask if I wanted her to make me any food, dreading her facial expression when I’d have to tell her no.

Would she be annoyed? Or worse, concerned?

But she just got on with mixing sugar and cinnamon, pouring hot water and cocoa powder into mugs, buttering two slices of toast and sprinkling them with the sugar-spice mix.

“What’s all this, then?” I finally asked, curious in spite of myself.

She swallowed her first bite of toast and put the slice down. “You’ve never had cinnamon toast?”

I shook my head.

She picked up the toast again and looked like she was about to hold it out to me, then thought better of it. “C’mere.” She tugged me forward by my belt loop and put her hand on the back of my neck. Her kiss was slow and deep, intoxicatingly sweet and spiced.

She pulled back. “What do you think?” she asked with a cheeky little smile.

That she was a piece of my most vivid fantasies, come to life. “I think cinnamon toast is delicious,” I half growled, crowding her into the worktop, “and that you’re lucky to be upright, instead of spread out on the kitchen table with my mouth between your legs.”

“Promises, promises, devil boy,” she said airily.

“Devil boy?” I asked, surprised.

She reached up and tapped my lower lip twice. “You get a really evil grin on your face when you look at me. Makes me think seriously about selling my soul.”

I caught her hand in mine and kissed it. “Oh, you’re one to talk, wicked girl. I used to be sensible before you came along. Now all I can think about is…”

She wiggled her eyebrows. “Bunny, bunny, bunny.”

I burst out laughing. “Not how I would have put it, but yes.”

“It’s mutual, trust me.” She handed me one of the mugs. “But I need to eat before we can do that again, so bear with me.”

I gave her space, and she leaned back against the worktop and munched her slice while I sipped cocoa.

The urge to have that cinnamon taste again and fill my empty stomach warred with my fear of eating in front of other people, being judged for being slow and picky.

But this was Mari, the least judgmental person in the world, who’d seen my body and wanted it.

If it was safe to eat with anyone, it was her. “Can I have some toast?”

She reached for the bread bag, then paused. “Would you like me to show you how to do it?”

I narrowed my eyes. “Is this like teaching a man to fish?”

She shrugged. “More like teaching a man to push a button, but sure. How many slices would you like?”

After a moment, I stepped up next to her and followed her instructions. She told me the ratio of sugar to cinnamon to mix together, to spread the butter generously from edge to edge on the toast so all the cinnamon sugar would stick.

I took a bite, and for once my stomach didn’t cramp because someone was watching me eat. “That was wonderful, by the way,” I said once I’d swallowed.

She blinked. “What was?”

I took a deep breath. “Everyone has always tried to feed me because I’m scrawny. It’s like people think I don’t understand what food is for. But I do, I’m just… not hungry, a lot of the time.”

She folded her arms and leaned back against the counter. “You’re not scrawny,” she said plainly. “You’re a long, lean kind of guy. I bet you have a metabolism like a greyhound.”

I found myself smiling. I knew I wasn’t that tall, but I supposed to Mari I was. “And you like long, lean men?”

She grinned. “One in particular.”

I leaned down and kissed her for that compliment. “But I mean it. You waited for me to tell you what I wanted, instead of forcing it on me.”

She looked me in the eye. “You’re a grown man, Leo. You know how hungry you are.”

The words were a golden key in an old lock. When had I got so disconnected from my appetites? Not just for food, but for other kinds of pleasure?

“I had a lot of allergies until I was three or four,” I admitted.

“Ended up in hospital multiple times after eating the most ordinary things. Even after the allergies went, Mum would fuss over me. Practically try to jam food in my mouth like I was a baby.” I took a deep breath.

“It got better once I was in secondary school and uni. I would tell her I had to study all the time, then buy ready-made things and eat them in my room. But I still don’t find food easy. ”

She paused, letting my confession settle over her. “What do you actually like to eat?” she finally asked.

I snorted involuntarily. “You know no one’s ever asked me that?”

“You’re allowed to like what you like,” she said with a shrug.

I sighed. “I eat like a child, basically. Bread, potatoes, pasta, rice. I don’t really like bits in things, except in Judith’s soup. I like chicken, but without bones or skin. White fish and salmon. Cherry tomatoes, carrot sticks, cucumber slices. And I like sweets, of course.”

She tilted her head. “What’s your favorite sweet thing?”

You, I just barely resisted saying. “Marshmallows.” Mari giggled a little, and I smiled. “I know, it’s a bit silly. But I like the softness. They’re like eating little clouds of sugar.”

“It makes a lot of sense,” she said, easing closer to me.

“Why’s that?” I said, urging her forward.

She put her hand over my heart. “You’re a little dusty on the outside, but you’re gooey and sweet on the inside. Not to mention that you taste delicious with chocolate.”

I blushed, struggled not to look down at the floor. “Is it strange that I think that’s both a terribly twee and very sexy metaphor?”

She smiled up at me. “I think it’s strange that you’re not kissing me right now for coming up with a very sexy metaphor.”

I leaned down and tasted her mouth again. I didn’t know if I’d ever get tired of her kisses.

“My dentist calls me a modern miracle,” I said once our lips parted.

“And I’m basically impossible to go out in public with.

” I thought of all the times that Bex had pointed out restaurants as we walked past, or read aloud bits of reviews in the weekend papers, how she’d shaken her head when I’d suggested she go with her friends.

Mari shrugged. “Restaurants are nice, but they’re not the be-all and end-all. And if your diet made you unhappy and you didn’t do anything about it, then I’d be worried. But you seem to do fine.”

I exhaled as a warm blanket of safety settled over me. “I do. I haven’t been ill in a long time.”

“And you clearly have stamina.” She wiggled her eyebrows at me. “Maybe we can test that out again later. Just to be sure.”

I nodded vigorously. “Oh, absolutely, any experiments you want to conduct, I’m on board with.”

But then her face fell a little. “I need to give you a warning before we go back to bed.”

It was like a dark shadow had slipped into the bright white room. “What kind of warning?” I asked carefully.

She reached up and touched my face, clearly trying to soften the blow. “Don’t fall for me. Because I’m not going to fall for you.”

A needle of disappointment pricked me. I knew that love was unlikely. We hadn’t known each other long, wouldn’t get to know each other much better before her time, our time, was up. But part of me wanted to kick and scream. “Am I allowed to ask why not?” I said, struggling to keep my voice neutral.

“Sure, but you won’t get much of an answer.”

“So you’re aromantic?”

She shook her head. “No, it’s not innate. I just choose not to.”

There was a dissonant note to her explanation, something hollow and incomplete. It didn’t make sense that someone with such a capacity for joy and delight didn’t want anything more than a quick fuck. “You’re trying to protect yourself from falling in love?”

“Trust me,” she said firmly. “It’s better this way for both of us. I’m leaving, remember? If neither of us catches big feelings, we can say goodbye and remember this fondly.”

My eyebrows shot up. “‘Fond’ is not the word I’d use to describe how I feel about you.

It’s far too timid.” But she was right. I’d be setting myself up for a painful fall if I let myself want forever with her.

Forever wasn’t for the likes of me, anyway.

I’d failed at it once before. “No big feelings,” I agreed.

I pressed my thumb over her lush mouth. “But I don’t want you to keep reminding me, all right?

I just want to get lost in each other for a bit. ”

She hesitated, then nodded. “Let’s get lost.”