The Professor's Secret

24. Candle Lights

I was still bid to wait while Sycamore prepared his spare room with a small round table and two old-fashioned chairs. He eventually ushered me in, pulled me a seat, walked away...

The spare room was, as I suspected, quite empty – I didn't have much time to analyze the decoration he dispensed there, for he soon returned with two dishes. He placed one of them in front of me on the table, and I examined its content, the silverware resting by the sides on top of a neatly folded napkin, the tasty-looking spaghetti arranged under sauce and a heavy layer of cheese, everything glowing under the bright light of twin candles set at the center of the table, a little to the side though: because of the difference in heights, Sycamore couldn't see me if it was placed exactly in the middle... And judging by his eyes now, the meal wouldn't be the same if he couldn't heavily scrutinize and catalogue every expression of each muscle in my face... each twitch as the night sunk deeper and the expected hour neared.

I moved my legs under the table – his shoes were around them, his legs were long enough to surround me while thus sat... It felt a little unnerving. I drunk from my glass – grape juice! Sycamore sipped his wine – the gulps were so tiny I could swear he was only wetting his lips, then savoring the drink from them. I observed the small quantity inside the glass, probably expressing my anxiety.

"It is nothing, really..." he assured me with a smile.

Yeah, it was almost nothing, and that's what called my attention – back in my house, he drank eagerly... two, three glasses gulped down while he merrily talked with my mother. Perhaps there he wanted time to fly, and here... my eyes twitched.

"I want my senses in check, if you must know..." he swirled the drink inside the glass watching as it changed hues "my nerves in their rightful place..." then his eyes turned back to mine, borrowing some of the red from his glass.

Oh, his constant reminders! Oh, the now imminent truth. I held my cup firmer between my hands. I was cornered, and he played with me – that's why now his brain must remain alert! He enjoyed my apprehension, he drank from my anxiety... and he wouldn't take a step in my direction before savoring it while he delicately ate. I dropped the fork for a minute or two.

The sounds of the dishes being carefully scrapped filled the room. I examined my surroundings more carefully: the checkered, red tablecloth stretched on top of the wooden table; the intricately braided small basket where two or three breads waited, and where my fingers now idly played; the candle lights, the tiny solitary rose in a thin vase barely visible between our plates, Sycamore's perfume... his hair gently pulled back: the exaggerated Italian motif looked more pretentious than impressive, it is true... but it wasn't meant to intimidate me – on the contrary, it seemed he had set the room like it would look in a movie's date. Perhaps he thought that's what little girls expect from their first time? He prepared the scenario in hopes that it would match my expectations... I couldn't help but scoff internally: did he think 'lady and tramp' was my model of a romantic movie? Geesh...

"What do you think of it?" He inquired, his eyes glued on me as they had been the entire time, asking the question as naturally as if I had been making a remark on the decoration rather than just thinking of it. "I figured you wouldn't want to eat out accompanied by me in the evening, so I tried to emulate a restaurant in here..."

"Wise decision!" I scoffed nervously imagining us on a date, drinking from my cup in order to conceal it "but... what makes you think I was examining your decoration?!"

"You were having quite the talk with yourself, smiling, stretching your eyes and nodding ... You tend to do so when you are nervous, I have taken the liberty to observe... And you are nervous..."