by Sparks In Shadow
Butter, sugar, eggs, flour – on the conveyor belt, my treasures travel to his hands.
Sex on the Beach before waking, two hundred thread count sheets mimicking silken sand, and I’ve barely lost the smile. He sees as the scan registers three seventy-five, reaches for the vanilla but loses his grip. His cheeks flush. I look away. He couldn’t know, yet his eyes speak furtive sentences, questions cloaked in lashes I’d like to touch.
He’s lovely. How haven’t I seen?
I pay. He holds the change against my palm, seconds longer than necessary.
This afternoon I’ll come back for chocolate.
This began while I was in the kitchen, and I ran with it.