Her P.O.V
September.
Four months is what it has been since I officially met him, six since I first saw him. In that corner booth, reading a book I barely remember the title, sipping away on his latte, eying me every once in a while. At first it was all very amusing, the way he would quickly look away when I looked in his direction, how his hands would slightly shake when I caught him and he didn't have enough time to look away.
And then we shared the booth, a conversation, then a ride home, a walk home, and dinner at mine's. All of which led us to this exact moment; with me on this couch, his couch, wearing his shirt, in his house, watching him delicately work his magic in the kitchen. What a wonderful cook he is!
As he chops away on some ingredient, he talks about something that I don't hear. All my attention is on him, trying to make sense of how we got here, how one rainy evening, one glance from him and everything in between led us to where we are.
The past few months with him has felt like a seventh heaven, a roller coaster of nothing but absolute bliss and ecstasy. Slowly but surely, I've fallen in love with this man. Even as he stands in his kitchen making us a meal, I realize I've been falling all along.
I blink and he is in front of me with two glasses and a bottle of my favorite wine, he hands me one glass and pours the Zinfandel. "Dinner will be ready in a couple of minutes," he says as he pours the red into his glass.
Gently, he rests the bottle next to a book I left half-open then joins me on the couch. I rest my head on his chest and he wraps an arm around me, I've never felt safer.
I remember the first time I was in this apartment, it was after a dinner out. He'd picked the restaurant, a nice fancy place with a spectacular view of the city and all its dancing lights. He was a proper gentleman that night. Just like every other time. During dessert he hinted at us going to his place after dinner, how could I possibly say no to such a man? A man who has taken my whole heart hostage.
The apartment felt strange on that first night, and the second and maybe the third, but slowly, I grew into it. Being here with him slowly became one of my favorite things. Unconsciously, I found myself wanting to be here more often. At least twice a week, I'd find a reason to come over, he didn't mind. If anything, I think he adores it. And me.
About a month ago, he offered me a drawer in his closet, and since then, I've found myself slowly becoming part of his space. Even now as I lay my head on him, with his hand stroking my hair, I can't help but notice the little things that whisper of me. My white fleece blanket on the other couch, the half-read novel next to the wine bottle, a few pieces of jewelry I carelessly left next to the lamp, small ordinary things. There is a mug in one of the kitchen cabinets too, I brought it over last week. On his nightstand, I have a lavender candle that's burnt halfway down, he says he likes the scent, and I believe him.
He serves dinner, mashed potatoes, beef stew and some vegetables. The aroma of garlic and rosemary fill the room as he brings the two plates to the table, he refills both our glasses and we dig in.
My mind drifts back to the cafe, that corner booth where all this began. The bookmark of our story. I smile as remember all the evenings we spent there, the first ones where nothing was ever spoken. Just stealing nervous glances and acknowledging each other with simple nods and smiles. Then the evening I took the bold step of walking to that booth, the pleasant conversation from that day and all that followed. That cafe will forever hold a special place in my heart. And in his too, I believe.
After dinner, I offer to clean up. He protests but I don't take any of it. And so he is left leaning on the kitchen counter, watching me with that sweet smile of his. I load the last plate into the dishwasher and turn to him, he is emptying the remaining contents of the Zinfandel into our glasses. I walk up to him and he slides both his hands under the shirt, grabs me by my waist and pulls me in until our bodies are pressing against each other. I wrap my arms around his neck and we hold each others gaze for a while.
He breaks the silence in a low but firm and certain voice.
"Move in with me."
My heart stumbles, and I am left staring at him for a long while. I feel his heart beat louder and faster, all valid reactions after such a bold move. God knows I'd be worse.
"You don't have to say yes right away, just give it a little thought and-" I don't let him finish.
In one quick move, I cover his lips with mine. As I kiss him, his hands tighten around me, then gently caresses my bare back as he kisses me back.
I pull back and stare at him one last time then give him a nod.
"Yes."
There is a spark in his eyes as soon as the word leaves my mouth, then a smile, then another kiss. Slower this time, then he gently presses his forehead against mine. The silence is filled with the hum of the dishwasher and the muffled noise of the city outside. His hands remain on me, one of his thumbs tracing circles around my lower back. I love it, I love this, and I love him!
His heartbeat slowly steadies against mine and I find a smile forming on my lips as well. I close my eyes and breathe him in, and once again, my mind drifts to the start of all this. A rainy evening, a cafe, a corner booth by the window. A man who couldn't stop looking at me and a woman who eventually stopped pretending like she didn't notice him. The woman who took a nervous, yet bold step of walking up to him. A step that led to the unfolding of an entire world that brought us here.
He pulls back and stares into my eyes and I see that same warmth I saw on that first day that he looked up from his book. Only now it's deeper. A very gentle kiss on my forehead leaves my face red with blush. I rest my head against his chest and exhale slowly, and the only thought on my mind is, "I'm home. This is home." Not this French city, nor this apartment, but this. Him. Us.
The uncertain silence that once only existed in the booth of a quiet cafe has now found a new home. Only now, it's not uncertain, it's not with a stranger, but with a man I have come to love deeply and dearly.
And somehow, I know it'll stay.