The 12th Kiss

❁one more night

❁one more night

As promised, John arrived in time for dinner. He parked his1998 Mercedes Benz behind Metilda's red Camry. Louis was playing with the neighbor's six year old girl, Bo. The kids were drawing chalk daisies on the sidewalk.

Bo shook head, her ink black hair falling out of the bow. "No, no. Loewis, flowers are not green,"

Louis glared at her. "Flowers be green."

"Mrs. Mole said flowers are not green," Bo crossed her arms over her chest.

Louis stomped his feet. "Louis want green flowers."

"I'm not playing. Goodbye." Bo flipped her hair and started walking away. Her sandals flopping on the side-walk.

"No," Louis ran after her, the chalk fell from his hand. "Wait, don't go, Bo."

John laughed to himself as watched his son chase after the neighbor's daughter. The woman is always right he thought he better learn that lesson.

He opened the door of the house. To find Metilda sitting by the dining table, a thick pad of paper by her elbow and a pen stuck behind her ear as she typed out an article on her laptop. Even in her messy, dismantled state, she looked gorgeous.

She met his gaze, startled. She seemed to be surprised a-lot these days. Was he really that bad at keeping promises? "Sorry. I haven't started on dinner yet. My back had been killing me. I'll start on it now."

"No, chill." John placed his coat on the rack. His wild green eyes took hers in.

She breathed out a shaky breath as he walked to her side. Gently, he pushed her back in the chair. He smelled of worn leather and Valentio, it was Metilda's favorite scent. She wondered when he had started wearing it again. "You okay now? Do you need to go to the doctor?"

"Yah, I'm okay." Metilda felt her shoulder brush against his waist. "I already went."

"What did the doc say?"

She shrugged her shoulders. "Nothing much. He prescribed me some pain meds."

"You rest. I'll cook dinner." John rolled up the sleeves of his grey shirt. He took a knife from the dish stand and started chopping onions. "Would you like onion soup? That's the only vegan dish I know how to cook." He flashed her a dazzling smile.

Metilda had an urge to fan herself as her cheeks got flushed red. He remembered.

"Are you still a vegan?" His grin dimmed slightly.

She nodded, not finding the voice to speak. Quickly, she averted eyes to the laptop screen. Her vision had become blurry. Why John, after all this time, why now?

❁❁❁

In Metilda's checkered apron, John served a very hyper Louis and solemn Metilda dinner. He stood by Louis's chair and poured him a ladleful of onion soup.

"Yummy food, daddy." Louis bounced in his chair, nearly spilling the glass of orange juice.

"It's really nice, John." Metilda gave him a half-hearted smile. "Thank you."

"Oh, come on." He smiled broadly. "Stop being so formal."

He came to Metilda and served her some bread. "Eat up, love. You've gotten so thin."

And then, he quickly planted a soft kiss on her lips. It was enough to make her toes curl. "Ten more to go," She whispered to him.

Ice glazed John's eyes.

Louis grinned at his mother and then at his father. "Daddy, you come for dinner every day?"

Metilda's heart fell. "No, Louis. It is Daddy, will you come for dinner every day?" She corrected him, trying to buy John some time to answer.

Louis turned his hopeful gaze at John. Big, green eyes watched him. "Daddy, will you come for dinner every day?"

John ruffled his son's hair. "If that's what you want,"

"Yes!" Louis shot up in his chair and jumped merrily around the dining table. "Yes! Yes!"

Metilda gave John a disgusted look. "Don't make promises you can't keep."

"I intend to keep this one." He picked up Louis's dishes. "Whether you like it or not,"

❁❁❁

While John tucked Louis to bed, Metilda scrubbed the dishes. Angrily, muttering to herself, she poured a handful of dish soap onto the sponge. "Who does he think he is?" She squeezed the froth onto the greasy plate. Bubbles danced around her red tinted face. "That bastar-"

She stopped mid-way as she felt a hand snake around on her wrist. "I'll do the dishes." John wrapped his arm around her and stole the sponge from her hand. Metilda felt her pulse rise up. He was so close, his front side pressed against her back. She turned around.

Wrong move.

Her face was inches from his chest. The front side of his shirt was stained with dish soap from her hands. John lowered his neck to her hair. Metilda's eyes widened.

He breathed in her scent. "Did you always smell this good?"

She paled significantly. Oh, dear lord. What was happening?

"Tell me," John's wet hands trailed along her waist.

The sponge slipped out of John's hands. He pushed Metilda against him. Their bodies were flush, her chest pressed against his.

"You're driving me insane, Mel." He planted soft kisses on her bare shoulder. She drew in a sharp piece of air.

The lines between lust and love beginning to blur.

And then he passionately kissed her, Metilda's back was pressed against the sink. Her heart gave a painful thump inside her chest. A blissful soared inside her as his fingers slid beneath her chiffon top.

"Not here," She gasped.

His strong arms swept her off her feet. He carried her to his room, refusing to let their lips part.

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Note: Remember there's a great difference between love and lust. ;) John, really did lose it, didn't he?