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FALAFEL-ING FOR YOU

W e drive through the rain, tropical sun showers drizzling down in bursts. The drops glisten on palm fronds and puddles, catching little moments of sunshine between the clouds. It’s beautiful—the way the Cay breathes through these fleeting storms, a quick soak before the sun returns. I can already picture how perfect this is going to look on a TikTok reel.

At the grocery store, Timmy bounces with excitement. “Film me, film me!” I giggle as he grabs an eggplant from a produce stand, twirling it like a baton. He’s totally shameless, dancing and making exaggerated faces, not caring for a moment that people are watching.

It’s something I’ve never encountered before—a guy who’s not just unbothered by looking ridiculous, but seems to thrive on it. He’s not performing for anyone’s approval, he’s performing for attention—good or bad. He’s having fun, and it’s infectious, the kind of lightheartedness I didn’t realize I needed in my life.

Back at the apartment, Timmy reaches for his tool bag. “Film this,” he says, pulling out random objects one by one. “Here’s a tiny skateboard,” he shows the camera. “It’s for tiny people to skate on.”

I laugh, shaking my head at his random antics. “Where do you even find this stuff? ”

“Usually on the beach,” he shrugs. “Anyway, our TikToks are going to be epic!” he declares. When I’d floated the idea of having an account where we share our outings across the Cay, he’d been totally on board. That’s one of the really fun things about Timmy. He’s usually up for anything. His eyes sparkle with excitement, as he practically bounces on the balls of his feet. “Is this going to be like a podcast?” he asks, just like last time we discussed it.

I try to suppress a smile. “Well, not exactly. TikToks are different from podcasts,” I explain. “TikToks are more like short-form videos—fun, quick snippets. Podcasts are usually audio, with maybe a video recording on the side.”

He looks momentarily crestfallen. “And we’re doing the podcast?”

I laugh, shaking my head. “No, Timmy. We’re doing TikToks.”

He rallies immediately. “Okay, so that means we need videos, right? I want to do the video one where people can see me—us.” He’s so excited, his eyes wide. “We’re going to go to a bar and I’m going to make a scene. Like, a huge scene.”

I feel a bit wary. “You don’t need to do that. We don’t need to make a scene or stage anything crazy. People will just really enjoy watching videos of our adventures around Sunset Cay. The place is interesting enough on its own, and we don’t need to upset anyone who’s just trying to relax.”

His face falls for real this time. “So like… we don’t need to come up with entire events where we make weird stuff happen? Like pranks and stuff? No huge scenes where we just mess with people?”

I laugh. “No, no. Other people do that. But where we live, and how we live our lives, is interesting enough on its own. We don’t need to concoct scenarios. We can just be, and film some of it. That’s all. Just us being us. I promise, it’s enough.”

He pauses for a moment, processing this new plan. “Okay, okay, I guess I was thinking of something different. But what you said is cool, too.” There’s a flicker of disappointment, like he’s a kid and I’ve just told him he can’t eat all his Halloween candy in one sitting.

But then he beams, his enthusiasm rebounding. “Our TikToks are going to be amazing. You’ll see.”

Later, back in the kitchen, Timmy watches me set out the ingredients for dinner. “Wait, wait!” he says, quickly arranging them on and around the cutting board before snapping a picture. “Perfect,” he announces, holding up his phone to show me.

I laugh, delighted. “Woah, that’s so random! I do that all the time, too!”

I pull up my Instagram to show him similar photos I’ve taken—wooden chopping boards covered in colorful produce and neat piles of herbs.

He looks at my pictures, his grin widening. “See? We’re totally on the same wavelength.”

It feels like another little sign. Such a random coincidence, a confirmation that this whirlwind connection is really meant to be.

As I chop and sauté, Timmy stays close, asking questions about the methods I’m using. He’s fascinated by how the chickpeas turn into these spicy, fragrant patties. “Wait, so you mash them first?” he asks, wide-eyed, as if I’m revealing some great culinary secret.

“Yep, it helps to bind everything together,” I explain, as I add more garlic and spices to the mix.

He even helps with some of the prep, happily mashing chickpeas and chopping tomatoes, sneaking bites here and there, and pretty soon the wraps are ready—filled with spicy falafel, crunchy romaine, juicy tomatoes, a ton of garlic yogurt and hot sauce. Oh, and red onions, of course. I’m obsessed with raw onions. And cilantro too!

Timmy dives in without hesitation. “Oh my god,” he moans around the first bite. “I’d only tried this one time, at a food truck, but this blows everything out of the water!”

“Oh, thank you!” I laugh, taking a bite. “I think I overdid the baking soda. But it’s decent. Definitely full of flavor.”

“No, no, no,” he shakes his head emphatically. “This is perfect the way it is. Better than perfect. I think it might be one of the best things I’ve ever tasted, honestly.” He pulls me into a tight hug, burying his face in my hair with crumb-covered lips, and kisses my forehead tenderly. “I can’t believe you can cook this well, too. You really are like… the perfect woman for me.”

I feel a warm glow in my chest, tilting my face up so our lips meet. It’s not just the compliment—it’s the way he says it, like he’s genuinely in awe of me. I know it’s just falafel, but his enthusiasm makes me feel like I just cooked him a Michelin-star meal.

“You’re amazing,” he murmurs, his lips brushing mine again. “How’d I ever get this lucky?”

I can’t stop smiling. He really is this excited about me—about us . And the way he seems to genuinely love spicy food—with raw onions—makes my heart flutter, because that’s hard to find. It feels good to be appreciated, to have someone so openly thrilled about the little things.

Not that my exes haven’t enjoyed the food I’ve made for them. But he seems like a simple guy who knows what he likes. And apparently, he really likes falafel. And me.

“I’ve only had one girlfriend cook for me before,” he says between bites. “And that was years ago, back in my twenties. You make me feel so special, doing this for me.”

His words feel like another gift, wrapping me in warmth and validation. “Wow, really? I love cooking for people,” I say. “Not a lot of guys I’ve dated could cook. But everything you’ve made so far has been so good—seasoned perfectly. You really know what you’re doing. I’ve never met anyone like you.”

He grins, leaning down to kiss me again. “I’m so in love with you, Margaux.”

“I love you, too, Timmy.”

After we finish eating, Timmy pulls out his phone and posts the photo of our ingredients to his Instagram. The caption reads: “When she makes you falafel, you propose.”

I burst out laughing. “Are you serious?”

He beams. “Completely serious. You’re incredible . I want everyone to know it, and to know that you’re mine.”

He’s announcing this to the world. Announcing us to the world .

Any thoughts of him being embarrassed of me, any lingering doubts about him hiding our relationship, float away.

He’s not worried about other girls seeing this. He’s telling everyone who knows him that I am his person.

He’s proud that we’re together, and he’s making that obvious.

In this moment, I feel truly special—truly, deeply special. There’s no hesitation, no game-playing—just Timmy, loud and proud, telling the world how much he loves me.

And it turns out he’s passionate about cooking, too.

We talk for hours about our favorite dishes, sharing ideas and swapping stories. He’s so creative, mentioning healthy broths bursting with umami, venison burritos using meat from the deer he hunted when he visited Steve a few months back, and fried rice packed with veggies.

“I can’t wait for you to try everything I make,” he says eagerly. “I’m going to cook for you all the time.”

I feel something I didn’t expect—excitement over someone else cooking for me. I’ve grown so particular over the years, careful about what I eat to stay fit and healthy. But with Timmy, I look forward to his next culinary experiment.

His passion matches mine, and it feels like our cooking styles will complement each other perfectly. It’s just one more way he fits into my life—like we were meant to find each other. And as I imagine the meals we’ll make together, the laughter we’ll share, and the adventures still ahead, I know I’ve found something special.

With Timmy, life feels exciting again.

“I love the way you speak with me," he says. "You’re so affectionate, it makes me feel so special. You make me feel big and strong.”

“You are big and strong. You’re my protector.”

He beams.

I’m so googly-eyed, my heart is about to burst out of my chest. He gives me the biggest butterflies I’ve ever felt. Because he wants me, and he adores me. And I’ve been so honest about who I was. And who I am. And he devours every word of it. Like everything I tell him makes him love me more .

I feel trust. Pure trust. It’s freeing. It’s wonderful. And I can’t get enough of this.

Like every little thing—cooking dinner, filming TikToks, grocery shopping and dancing with eggplants—can be an adventure. Hell, he even makes showering fun.

And I can’t wait to see where this adventure takes us.