this is a treat, not a meal, but they're still eating.
“Can we try those chocolates now?” He asks abruptly, pushing his hair back, “I haven’t had anything but cafeteria food in ages and I’m dying for something that doesn’t taste like boxed pudding and gelatine.”
I hurry to get the box out of my bag and undo the ribbon. Something, maybe a slight movement, maybe a change in his breathing makes me hesitate for a second. I don’t look up, but I become aware that he’s watching me, feel his dark eyes tracing my motions as I remove the velveteen lid with some effort.
At the edge of my peripheral, I can see his expression - too, intent - I try to pretend I don’t, making a show of selecting a bonbon with two fingers, unreasonably embarrassed. My face flashes red and white like a siren.
I’ve taken one bite when Kattar scares me half to death - saying suddenly - “Wait! Is that the goober nougat?! I want that one!”
“I already took a bite out of it,” I stammer, somewhere between annoyed and disconcerted.
“Don’t care.”
I surrender the half-eaten bonbon but feel the need to add, as a last, exasperated complaint “It’s just a glorified peanut butter cup.”
Kattar smiles impishly, self-satisfied, a brilliant flush blooming in his cheeks as he pops the bonbon into his mouth, watching my face the whole time.
I shake my head and select another, rolling it over at my fingertips. I lock eyes with him. That same expression. I try to meet his gaze - ask nonchalantly, jokingly:
“Am I allowed to eat this one?
He smiles his roguish grin, and any attempt at maintaining my heart rate evaporates.
His eyes flash, taunting me,
“We’ll see.”
