She's already there when I walk in, sat on my spot by the window in our booth. The evening light from the setting sun kisses her with gold, making her glow, sharpening her quiet beauty. But that is not what captured my attention as I walk to the table. It's the scarf. My scarf.
I gave it to her last week, we left the cafe and the air had turned unexpectedly cold. I didn't think much of it at the time, I just slipped it from my neck and draped it around hers. She smiled and made a comment on how warm it felt. A kind gesture is all that was, but now, seeing it resting neatly against her skin, it feels like it is with its rightful owner.
She rests her mug back down and looks up at me, meets my eyes and smiles, gentle, warm, welcoming. I walk over to her and give her the gentlest of kisses on the temple of her head. I sit across from her and watch her face turn pink with blush, she looks down at her mug then back up at me.
Neither of us speak, we just regard each other in quiet adoration. The silence has changed, it is no longer strange or demanding of intervention from either party. We now understand each other in this silence, we've grown in it.
My waiter friend brings me my latte with two shots of caramel and a slightly warm croissant.
My thoughts drift after my first sip.
It has been three weeks since that first conversation, and since then, the days have unfolded in a way I would never have imagined in a million years.
There was that evening we shared a cab. The rain had come from nowhere. I offered her my hand as we ran through it and into the cab, she laughed through the whole thing. What a pleasant laugh she has! Inside the cab, she sat close, her arm wrapped around my bicep, her head resting on my shoulder. We didn't talk about anything in particular, didn't talk much at all really. Just enjoyed the feeling of being in each others hold, feeling the warmth radiating from each other.
Three nights later, she suggested we walk. "My place isn't too far out from here," she had said with a smile that I could not say no to. And so we walked, slowly, her hand tucked under mine, bodies brushing as we walked. She told me about her favorite spots in the city, told me what intrigued her about Paris and the French. I told her about my insomnia, she was very empathetic. She told me she preferred nights, mornings were too "unpleasant".
There was also the art gallery. It was my idea, took her to my favorite gallery. I wasn't too sure about how she'd react, so believe me when I say I was pleasantly surprised when she spent close to fifteen minutes in front of one painting. Most of them in silence, and the rest discussing with me what story the artiste was trying tell. We did that for most of the other intriguing art pieces in display. We had a good time. Believe me.
There was dinner. Her idea. Well technically it was my idea originally. It was on another walk home, I suggested taking her out to dinner, do something different from the cafe. She did me one better and suggested dinner a hers. "Come on, it'll be lovely. Let's do it at my place, I'll cook and we'll have a good time," she said with so much excitement. Again, I couldn't say no, not to such a lovely person. So we set a date and a time, "don't wear anything fancy," she teased as we said goodbye at her building's entrance.
I brought a bottle of red wine, and a bunch of flowers. She loved them. Said so herself. She cooked, she wasn't too sure if I'd love the herb-roasted chicken with vegetables and a light salad. It was perfect, I made sure to tell her that. We ate, laughed, talked, pushing further and further into the night. Later, we shared a blanked on her couch, her head on my chest, the room filled with wine and laughter. She looked up and the space between us slowly thinned as she inched closer, I met her halfway. The kiss was soft and hesitant at first, but slowly grew into a very passionate one. God what amazing lips she has!
She invited me to stay the night. I did.
We made love.
I blink and take a sip from my mug, returning to the cafe. I look at her, gorgeous as ever under that orange tinge of the setting sun. Her fingers brush over the scarf, and once again, I think about how perfect it looks on her. It belongs there.
The evening stretched out, with the sun slowly dying off, ushering in the darkness. The cafe slowly thinned, growing quieter, calmer. Our favorite part of the evening.
She eyes me with a small hesitant smirk then reaches into her bag. "I have something for you," she says gently, doing quite a good job in hiding her excitement.
I raise an eyebrow and shift on my chair, curious. "Hmm, for me?"
With her hand still inside her bag, she nods and holds my gaze for a couple of more seconds. Finally, she slides a small wrapped package across the table. I can tell she took a great deal of time wrapping it, it's wrapped carefully, deliberately, purposefully.
"Should I open it now?" I ask looking at it then at her.
"Mh hmm," she hums a reply.
I take my time peeling away the paper, whilst several guesses of what it could be flashes in my mind. To my surprise, inside is a book. My lips carve out to a grin as I hold the novel in my hand and trace the edge with my finger. On the spine is the name of one of my favorites, Charlotte Bronte.
I look up at her and she's smiling, but her eyes are searching mine. I look back into her eyes, in subtle disbelief that she remembered something I mentioned in passing weeks ago, almost forgetting I had.
For a very long while, I am speechless.
Slowly, the cafe fades away. And for a moment, it's just her, the book, the scarf sitting beautifully around her neck and the silence holding it all together.
"You remembered," I finally whisper.
She leans forward and takes my free hand between hers, "Of course."
My eyes drop from hers, to the scarf, to the book, to her hands holding mine then back to her eyes.
Does it get any better than this?