Jeremiah Colchester.
Our date had started off in the Café, now we're in Detroit's main street gobbling street food.
Three hours earlier, I'd dragged him to an arcade, where he grumbled for a few minutes before finally giving in and joining me for a Mortal kombat video game tournament. After that, we spent two hours working at Coopers' Farms; it's my favourite place to be other than the Café.
I shovelled horse dung while he watched...bewildered, then strongly opinionated, and finally amused.
He got dung on his shoes, which he complained about that for an entire hour. I didn't mind, but then he complained about me not minding, and when I gave in and said I did, he complained again.
Now, he's laughing. We are both laughing. It's the golden hour, passerby(s) think we are crazy. We don't care what they think.
He scoots slightly closer on the park bench we are sharing. He smells the same: lavender. It suits him. Everything suits him.
"Why didn't you tell me you owned the café?" He asks, digging into the Burrito, filling his mouth with more than necessary. He hums and then swings his head back to 'savor every ingredient worth tasting.' Like he mentioned after his first bite.
His outrageous reactions keep getting to me, amusing me; I can't help but laugh. "It never came up." I reply.
"It kind of did." He gives me that look that suggests he's not in the mood to be trampled with at the moment.
I'm about to take a bite of my burrito when I notice a smudge of cream above his lips.
"You've got a little something..." I point to his upper lip, he lifts his eyebrows coarsely. It's rare to see this side of him— the side he's willingly opened up to me all day; unbothered, free, playful. I feel pride course through my heart, warming me against the chilly air setting in. It's been a decade since, and not a day has passed when I didn't pray for a day like this. One where he looks at me with those beautiful brown eyes, making me feel like I'm the only thing in the world that matters, the only thing worth his attention.
I lean in to wipe it off. I expect that he'd back away, but instead, he smiles, watching me tentatively and liberatingly. And for a moment there, I think he recognizes me, I think he remembers... this moment, this place, this same burritos. I know I shouldn't hope for that— It's too dangerous a risk to take— but then, there's that look in his eyes, the one that probably means nothing to him but everything to me, and for that reason alone, in this moment, I want nothing more than for him to remember. And then, maybe not.
His sudden laughter cracks me out of my thoughts. "You look like— wait, have I got something on my cheeks too?" He wipes at them; they are crimson, lovely, kissable.
"No," I clear my throat, looking away, mortified. "Did you know that scientists are conducting a research on 'cat poop in the fridge'?"
"No, I don't know that. But I do know that's your attempt at getting away with not answering my question."
I stifle a laugh, "Fine. I knew you didn't care about what I did for a living. Not really." I reply, taking a bite from my snack.
"How would you know that? I'm very opinionated, and that's something you should probably consider before concluding anything about me." His voice is firm but playful.
"I wasn't conclusive about you; I never had been. I just thought that I knew you didn't."
He stares at me for a beat, "I don't care about that stuff, yes, but isn't it normal that you told me about it?"
I shrug off my jacket and wraps it around him; he's cold and shivering, but too prideful to ask. He offers me an appreciative smile in return.
"You're right. Sorry I didn't."
He doesn't reply... simply shrugs, letting me know it's fine by him.
I guess that's one of the many habits that never die.
It's like we never stayed apart for even a blink.
"The café holds everything that matters to me: family, history, love, and friendship. It's the reason I never practiced psychology professionally after almost studying my brain off for years. Because it was either that, which meant nothing to me, or the café, which was built upon the sweats and tears of my ancestors. it's scaffolds and pillars which were reason enough to bring warmth to people's lives, and I loved it very much." I stare into the distance, creating a mist with my exhale,
"My Grandfather devoted most of his life to the café. He spent everyday bringing smiles to people's face and nourishing that place with everything he had without ever claiming ownership over it. He would say it belonged to everyone who stepped foot in it, everyone who made it real. A little piece of heaven."
Silence drapes over us, providing comfort, until suddenly my body electrifies— he'd somehow snuck his fingers into mine, resting on the bench in silence.
Still in the same silence, I feel my heartbeat erupt, then slowly begin to calm, familiarising itself with this... his touch. Which had been missed more than life itself.
"Your Grandfather was a very wise man," He says.
I want to chuckle, but I'm scared that any rash action might make him change his mind about holding hands this way. So I remain still, but not too still that he'd think I wasn't listening.
"You are wise yourself. The degree you spent years obtaining didn't go to waste," He adds, shifting slightly so his side is facing me. I mirror that.
"You're only saying that because you're nice."
"Oh, I'm not nice. You really should ask Arman about me." He chuckles lightly, and I do too. "But I'm not kidding; no one has read me as well as you have in just two days."
"Well, that actually flatters me." He laughs again, scooting closer, mindlessly. If he knows that his little mindless actions sends sparks shooting through my body, perhaps he'd stay put.
"And your caf— café le pari does leave a gentle, nudging, lingering impact. The kind you can't resist, even if you thought you wanted to. It has a touch of home in it." He says, " I say that because I felt it too."
I smile, looking at the passersbys who do not mind two men getting cozy with each other— not quite intensely— in the middle of New York. Because in this moment, I don't only want to get cozy, I want to kiss him. So badly, that I never want to let him go ever again. But I can't do that. It wouldn't be fair to him.
"Now that we've gotten two secrets out of me, I suppose it's time you tell me one of yours." I say.
"No way. I told you before not to reveal your secrets to me."
"Says the date who's been insisting, or more like demanding, to know."
"That's not fair, I only asked a rational question anyone else would ask. You're the one who got all deep and sentimental."
"I didn't know my secrets held sentiments."
"Shut up."
I laugh.
We both laugh.
We've been doing that a lot all day.
"I promise I'll take your secret to my grave." I cross my chest with my free hand, my burrito smudging my shirt in the process, but I don't mind.
He sighs heavily, "Just one, okay?"
"Just one." I repeat.
But suddenly, his smile fades within the emerging darkness, and he seems uncomfortable. I don't like making him uncomfortable.
"You don't have to—"
"I'm a finance bro. Not the kind that's highly praised on social medias and all that stuff. The kind who deals with high-stake opportunist companies and brings them to their knees, begging for a simple deal over a damn good leverage." He looks away from me, but I gently guide his gaze back, silently assuring him that it's okay.
"I guess you could say it's pinned on a personal grudge against my dad that has grown beyond its limits. After he divorced my mom and acquired half of her possessions with the ill excuse that she was an Alcoholic— who, by the way, was working really hard on getting sober at the time — I had my eyes set out for getting back every single penny to its rightful owner. It took a couple of long, stressful years, but I finally did it five years ago. I sent him to jail in the process... and now I don't know how to be anything less."
I watch him take a bite from his snack, and he wipes his mouth this time, just in case... but still misses the same spot as earlier.
"If you ask me, you found what you loved. Something that doesn't require ethics or justification. Something worth doing, Just by itself."
He stares at me momentarily, a small, sad smile tugging at his lips.
"Can I ask you something?" He says.
I nod.
Is he about to ask to kiss me? I make the mistake of glancing down at his beautiful full pink lips. I shouldn't have done that. Oh lord...
"Will you be my plus-one to my best friend's wedding?"
"I'd be honored." I answer too quickly.
"Can I ask you something?" I don't what what I'm thinking.
He smiles then nod.
"Is it too rash to want to kiss... uhm... your date on the second date?"
He chuckles softly, melodically, scooting in fully and leaning in closer, "I don't think it is."