You Belong With Me

Mira

She was nudged from slumber by his attempts to carry her out of his car. It took him a while to figure it out. Damsel-in-distress carry or fireman lift? Romantic or efficient? She could have helped him out by getting up and walking herself out but her limbs felt heavy and the half of her that was awake thought it was funny.

He succeeded on a piggy back ride and when she woke up, she was in his bed, alone.

The first few beats of wakefulness and solitude invited stray thoughts, like run-on sentences she couldn't say fast enough.

Did that really happen? Was it real? They were at a bahay-kubo themed birthday party and sometime between sharing hot tsokolate, Johan Antonio, the man she'd loved since she was still young enough to call it a crush, kissed her. A proper kiss, many kisses, fervent and sweet, she could still feel jolts down her fingertips.

Was this the risk she'd long knew she couldn't take?

Sounds and smells wafted from beyond the door. Mira rolled over the sheets.

On the bedside table were a fresh towel, a brand new toothbrush, and a jumbo-sized bottle of her shampoo. Beside it were her clothes from last night, neatly folded and freshly laundered.

It wasn't a big deal, a stack of her belongings next to things he'd gotten for her. This was standard Johan, the sort of thing he'd do for her without a second thought. But through the shroud of what she was feeling, she had to laugh to break a small sob.

She inched out of bed and opened the door, sniffing the air, catching the unmistakable alchemy of meat and boiling oil.

"Is that...fried chicken?" she asked, walking in on him finishing up in the kitchen.

"Hey." He turned at the sound of her voice, a slow smile spreading on his face. "You're hungry again, aren't you?"

"I feel like a kid waking up to the smell of her baon."

Johan beat her to the plates and utensils, hands firm on her shoulders as he pushed her to sit.

"Let it be on record that it was I who figured out your mom's secret fried chicken recipe, despite Miguel's constant claims to his favor because he is a liar." He placed the plate of chicken on the table next to the rice, beaming at the dinner spread like a proud student. "Let's eat, before it gets cold."

Mira waited for him to sit across from her then took her first bite.

The instinctive closing of her eyes and that slow hmmm of pleasure, crunch, salt, fat, and grease singing a medley on her tongue. She opened her eyes to see Johan looking like he'd aced a test. She nodded at him to start eating too.

"Did Mama really never tell you what's in here?"

"Secret recipes draw the line for the usual limitless reach of my charm. I had to experiment a lot to finally get this. I ate so much chicken in two months, I felt like I could hatch my own eggs."

Mira laughed, almost forgetting how her insides had clenched on her way out of his bedroom. It had always been this way with Johan, things falling into place. As long as they stayed within the boundaries they'd long drawn.

Was this really a line she dared cross now?

"I called tita, by the way," Johan said, piling more rice on her plate. "You missed a few of her calls."

"About a dozen?"

"Thereabouts."

"What did you tell her?"