Say you'll stay - Channing Tatum

P.34

I hear our plates being put down in front of us, and our glasses and cups soon after. I know that the waiter is back and is standing right beside us, but my gaze on him doesn't leave.

The sound of footsteps leaving the room brings me to look down at the food. It looks lovely, but I'm not as hungry as I was half a minute ago.

He seems to notice at the same time that I do, that we got each others coffees in front of us. We reach for the cups at the same time and our hands brush in the process. He's warm. He's always warm. I can feel him searching my face; every single inch of it with his curious eyes. Without looking up at him, I put my hands around the cup to get some warmth.

"But I'll take you on one. If that'd be alright with you."

His large hands covers mine entirely when he puts them on top of mine that still holds the cup tightly, warming me better than the coffee ever could. I like how they feel on mine. Protective and warm. It reminds me of this morning and the way he played with my fingers for what seemed like forever. I wish I would stay cold forever if it always meant that he warmed me up.

"Maybe," I speak slowly.

"Maybe?" He repeats.

"I'd like to know why this isn't a date." I smile.

I want to hear him explain why this isn't everything I think it is. If a date is just a date when it's spoken, what are everything in between? All those moment of being with someone. Talking, not talking, listening and carefully touching each other. Those moments are worth way too much to not even have a name. This is date, I don't care if he doesn't agree. 

He looks up at me and with slow words say, "Because if it was, it would be the cheapest date ever. And you deserve more."

I look at him. Either, he hasn't gotten me at all, or I think I know myself better than I do. 

"Don't say that," I paus, "I neither want or need anything more than this. Not a single thing. I just want to be with you."

The pancakes tastes just like I thought they would. Absolutely amazing. Every bite melts in my mouth and I hear myself hum out loud in appreciation more than once. Each time my cheeks turn crimson and I want to disappear under the table.

"Do you like it?" He asks once we're both half-through our dish. He already knows I do. I nod and a small but satisfied smile takes over his face. Even the small crinkles by his eyes appear when the corners of his mouth tugs upwards. I don't mind one bit, I'll let him have it.

We don't talk much while we're eating. It's not that I don't have anything to say, I have lots to say and I have to bite my tongue to not ask him all of the hundred questions I have, but it's not about that. It's about being able to just sit with him, without having to talk. Without feeling the need to keep the conversation going to avoid tension. I'm comfortable in our silence and I hope he is too.

After we've finished eating, he moves our plates to the empty table next to us. They make a clinking sound when he puts them down and I pray silently that the waiter didn't hear. I don't want him to come. I listen for fotsteps but can't hear any. 

"You know, I think this gets a place among the top ten breakfasts I've had." I say and pull my leg up beside me on the bench.

He strokes his thumb along his lower lip, unnecessarily slow, and I can't help but watch him. If we weren't sitting opposite each other, I don't think I'd be able to keep from kissing him. 

His eyebrow rises, "What do you mean top ten? It's among the top three dates you've been on, easy?" A smile pulls on the corners of his lips and I can feel mine doing the same.