A Sulawesi Romance

Chapter 19

A/N: The image above does not belong to me. It belongs to the person who uploaded it on the internet.

Third Person POV

Gun couldn't help feeling amazed at just how many clothes of all kinds were jammed into Mark's walk in closet. Gun was of the agreement that Mark should allow his closet to breathe by donating some of them, a lot of them, to that homeless shelter downtown.

"Tell me which ones to lay on your bed." Gun said.

"You," Mark replied.

"What???" Gun looked at him with a horrified expression on his face. "Please be serious for once. If you don't tell me, I am just going to pull out whatever clothes of yours I can lay my hands on."

"I would like to lay my hands on you," Mark said.

Gun started to make his way to the door.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Mark said, grabbing Gun's wrist before Gun could place his hand on the doorknob. "Here, let me tell you what we will do. I will choose the clothes and take them out of the closet and hand them over to you. Your task will be to fold them neatly and place them into the boxes."

"But we didn't bring any boxes up here," Gun pointed out to Mark. "Remember I was offering to stop by the Supplies Room to pick up some empty boxes but you stopped me from doing so."

"No worries," Mark said, walking over to the lamp stand where his room phone was.

Mark pressed on three numbers and then waited for someone to pick up his call.

"Mrs. Puangmalee?" Gun heard Mark saying on the phone. "Be a darling and get one of your staff to fetch some empty boxes from the storeroom and bring them up here to my suite."

"How many you asked? Umm... make it three large ones. Thank you so much." Mark said and then placed the phone back on its cradle and then turned to Gun.

"There, our problem about boxes is fixed," said Mark. "Let's get cracking."

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By the time that all three boxes were filled to their maximum capacity, Gun and Mark were not just feeling exhausted, their stomachs were starting to complain.

"What are you in the mood for?" Mark asked, referring to what kind of dinner he would order from the chef.

"For a kiss," Gun replied, and when Gun realized what he had just said, he covered his mouth and tried to make a dash for the door.

Of course Mark was easily able to catch Gun before he could even touch the door knob.

"I don't know what made me say that!!!" Gun protested. "I swear it was a really an old habit for when I was a student and my mom would ask me what I wanted after I was tired from working on a home project and I would answer her "a kiss" and she would do so. Please! Please, Mark! That answer had nothing to do with you!!! Stop!!!"

Mark told himself that he'd better behave if he wanted Gun not to lose his  trust in him, so he let go of Gun and turned his back on him and walked over to the phone on the lamp stand once more.

"Yes, Chatmanee," Gun heard Mark talking to the chef. "Do you think you could quickly whip up some simple dinner for two?"

There was a brief pause and then Mark said, "What did you prepare for the employees this evening?"

Another brief pause and then, "Okay, please send up to my suite two dinner trays of the same kind. Drinks? Umm ... two bottles of Heineken and ... a pitcher of pineapple juice in case my guest is not a beer drinker."

Mark was startled when he heard Gun say from behind him, "I do drink beer."

"Umm ... Chatmanee, scrap the pineapple juice and bring me a six pack of Heineken," Mark instructed his cook. "Thank you, sir."

Then Mark turned around to face Gun.

"I don't intend on getting drunk, though," Gun said quickly, his face turning a dark pink.

"Of course not," Mark agreed, averting his face from Gun so that Gun could not see the glint in his eyes.