Total pages in book: 73
Estimated words: 68483 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 342(@200wpm)___ 274(@250wpm)___ 228(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68483 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 342(@200wpm)___ 274(@250wpm)___ 228(@300wpm)
I relaxed in his arms and made sure I was totally present in the moment while I let him take me on a journey of sorts. The single notes of the fruits were followed by simple flavor combinations, like salty feta cheese and sweet watermelon, followed by ripe cherry tomato, basil, and fresh mozzarella, gradually moving from sweet to savory.
The main course consisted of small bites that reminded me of sampling different appetizers at a party. There were miniature empanadas, delicate puff pastries with savory fillings, and even two variations of tiny grilled cheese sandwiches, perfect in their simplicity.
He finished the meal by feeding me three chocolate truffles, which were filled with coffee cream, raspberry, and salted caramel. Then he said, “There’s just one more thing.”
He picked up my hand, and I felt him slip something smooth and cool over it, then fasten it around my wrist. His fingertips lightly traced the back of my hand, and then he cupped my cheek and kissed me again. It was so tender.
“Thank you,” I said. “This was an unforgettable experience.”
Micah removed the blindfold and handed me my glasses. When I put them on and saw the elegant platinum watch on my wrist, I whispered, “Oh Micah, it’s beautiful.”
“It reminded me of you.” I threw my arms around him and held on tight, and he hugged me as he said, “If it’s not your taste, feel free to exchange it.”
“No, it’s absolutely perfect. Thank you so much. I just can’t even tell you what this means to me.” I had to fight back tears. It had nothing to do with the fact that the watch was obviously expensive. I was just so touched that he’d wanted to do something special for me.
He asked, “Can we go to bed early tonight?”
“Of course, but what about your dinner? You didn’t eat anything.”
“I ate while I was preparing your meal.”
“The scraps you mean, like a grilled cheese sandwich with a perfect circle cut out of it?”
“Exactly. It still tasted good, even with a hole in it.”
I brushed his hair from his eyes and asked, “Can I cook for you tomorrow night?”
“I want to make something out of the new cookbook you got me for dinner tomorrow,” he said as he got up, then held his hand out and helped me to my feet. “But you can make us breakfast if you want to.”
I brought the blindfold with us to his room and left it on the nightstand for future fun and games. Then we took turns getting ready for bed. Once we were curled up together under the covers, he said, “You can tell me to fuck off if you want to, but I’m curious about your artwork. What’s it like?”
“I can show you if you want.”
“Are you sure?” I nodded and picked up my phone, which was still on his nightstand. Then I found the album where I kept photos of the stuff I made and handed it to him. He sat up a bit and put on his reading glasses, studying each picture closely as he murmured, “These are absolutely extraordinary.”
“You don’t have to say that.”
“It’s the truth. Tell me about them. What are they made out of?”
“Different things.” I pointed to one of the photos, which showed a one-inch-high figure sitting alone in a tiny living room and said, “The man is polymer clay, and the furniture is mostly cardstock and balsa wood. I used cut up popsicle sticks for the floorboards, and the glass in the windows is made from thin sheets of plastic. Whenever I finish a scene, I encase it in a wood and glass box, but I take pictures of it before I seal it up, because it’s easier to see the details.”
“This is exactly how I felt before you got here,” he said, as he moved to a photo of an apartment building, then zoomed in on a lone figure in one of the windows. “The theme of isolation in all of these is both beautiful and heartbreaking.”
“Most people don’t get that. They just think I make cute miniatures.”
“Then they’re not paying attention, because the deeper message comes through loud and clear.” When he reached the end of the album, he asked, “What are you working on now?”
“Nothing at the moment. I’d finished one right before you hired me, so I didn’t bring along any of my art supplies.”
“Would it be overstepping if I bought you some stuff? I want you to be able to make things if the mood strikes you.”
“You don’t have to do that, Micah,” I said, as I returned the phone to the nightstand. “You’ve already done so much for me.”
“Can I do it anyway?”
He looked so hopeful that I said, “If you really want to, go right ahead.”
“Awesome! This’ll be a fun project. I’m going to make you an art studio, starting tomorrow. You’ll have to advise me, so I know what to get,” he said, as we settled back against the pillows.