Ice To Meet You

Cheese still not over it

Instead of acting on my impulse of inducing physical violence, I take a deep breath and try to think of happy things. Box of kittens, golden retrievers, unicorns, rainbows—not working—I want to say something really really mean.

But the problem is that when I get angry, I can't think of anything mean to say. I am sure later while I am going to sleep, I'll have like 40 snarky and sarcastic comebacks. I just don't know what to say or do or not do right now

"Guess you shouldn't be making presumptions about people," I state calmly. The irony of this statement is not lost on me.

"To Lilia sir?" Wilson asks, breaking the deafening silence and Kent nods. This is the most uncomfortably awkward car ride I have ever had. Poor Wilson is like the kid stuck in the middle of two parents bickering for their dear life.

"I think we should just call it a night." I suggest.

"We are 5 minutes away from the place,"

Why does he want to get food with me after calling me a whore?

The Italian restaurant is understatedly elegant with white walls, concrete floors, and wood beamed ceilings.

"They have handmade pasta and I highly recommend Pink Peppercorn Mafaldini," Kent chats as we enter the snug restaurant. I have no idea what Pink Pepper—whatever is, some rich people dish I have never had.

"Do I have to suck your dick for it or the servers?" I ask tartly, trying to look confused with my eyes open wide.

He runs his hands down his hair and on any other occasion I would melt at this sight—not today.

Although the restaurant is crowded, we are immediately seated.

He pulls out the chair for me and I quietly go and sit on the opposite chair. I can feel his probing eyes on me but I ignore them and try to focus on the menu.

"Hello, my name is Marco and I will be your server. Can I get you started with something to drink?"

"Can I have 2 glasses of Schioppettino di cialla' 1999?" Kent asks and why does Italian anything just sound so sexy?

"We only have 1999 by the bottle sir."

"We'll have a bottle then, that'll be all for now," he dismisses Marco.

"Marco?"

"Yes, miss,"

"Do you have iced tea?"

"We have Blueberry, Raspberry, Lemon, Apricot and Peach iced tea available."

"Which one would you recommend?"

"Personally I love the Apricot one," 

"Then I'll have the apricot iced tea with less ice please."

"Sure, anything else?"

"No, we're good," I say and get back to scanning the menu. Just because he's forcing me to share a meal with him does not mean I will make any of it enjoyable for him. 

"Mia?" he purrs. The icy texture in his voice has evaporated and is replaced by the molten velvety tone that I find irresistible. 

I.will.not.melt.

I don't answer him and instead focus on the risottos, fettuccine, and linguinis. 

"I am sorry for what I said," Kent tenderly proclaims and reaches for my hand. His thumb gently touching the back of my palm. If I have any iota of self-respect left in me, I should remove my hand, I know this. But his touch—he is—it feels—I can't.

"Why am I a whore?" I ask biting my lips and holding my breath. Why am I such a crybaby?

I look up from the menu and his eyes are different now. Warmer... softer... the deep blueness of them is comfortingly familiar. Is he bipolar?

"I think you are unaware of how things proceed in work settings," he emphasizes and maybe his heart is in the right place even though his words aren't. 

"Not an excuse Mia!" Inner bitch warns me, "Don't defend the man."

"Are we ready to order?" Marco is back. 

"I will have a ricotta gnocchi with broccoli pesto," I order defying him yet again. I find morbid pleasure in doing the opposite of everything he says.

"For you sir?"

"I'll have a grilled veal flank steak with hot peppers." 

Marco takes our menus away and Kent is still touching me. His thumbs are making circles on the back of my hand and the electricity from my hand is traveling down to my toes. It's the feeling of being on the roller coaster, waiting for the thud. I know I will regret letting my mind wander the minute his touch leaves mine but for now, just for this moment, I want to relish the tingles. Maybe he was lowkey jealous but does that mean he likes me? Could it be? Against all odds, I allow myself to hope—It can rain in a desert, right?

"Kent?"

"Why do you call me Kent?"

"I don't feel like I know you enough to call you Liam and Will is no fun."

"Oh, Will is fun, I can assure you of that," he says as he winks at me. A chuckle escapes my throat.

"Mia?" he purrs, his eyes looking deep inside my soul. 

"Yes?" 

"I would like you to get to know me enough to call me Liam."

This feels like the calm after the storm but is the storm really over? Will we survive tomorrow's lunch?