The word, that single word, cuts through all the fog in my brain and flashes like a neon sign,
“Proud.”
“Matthias…”
Our eyes lock.
And the desperation turns into something dark, liquid. And he leans in and kisses me.
And I don’t stop him.
I kiss him back.
Hard, desperately, inexplicably.
I kiss him back, his lips hard, crushing mine.
Until there’s no air left in my lungs and I snap out of it. I shove my hands against his chest and he flies backward, the look on his face showing he is as shocked as I am. I gather all the sense I still have in my body and hiss, “Don’t you ever fucking do that again.”
CLARISSA
r. Baxter is here, Clarissa,” Clementine says to me sometime around nine-thirty p. m. while I’m
“M
standing by the bar.
“Ugh.” The groan slips out of its own accord. “What the hell does he want?”
She shifts uncomfortably. I immediately feel bad for putting her in the middle of a dispute with my…
fiance. That’s weird to say.
“Um, I thought you told him to come. He went straight over to your table.”
I flick my eyes over to my table and sure enough, he’s settling into a seat and gives me a big wave when he sees me looking. What the hell is he holding? It looks like a box of chocolates.
“It’s fine. Please, go back to the front, Clementine.”
She flees. I need to speak more kindly to my employees. I take a mental note to be better with that. I don’t feel the same need for my interactions with my newly betrothed, however.
“Hi honey,” he says, flashing me a grin that could probably melt 90% of the women’s hearts in Manhattan. Unfortunately for him, my heart has an armor around it and can’t be touched by a toothy smile.
“What do you want?” I snap, fully aware that I’m just trying to compensate for the kiss earlier today with abject rudeness. Luckily for me, the elevator had appeared just after I’d pushed him away, and I’d jumped onto it and escaped. I haven’t had to see him since.
I’ve spent the entire day stuck in a loop, replaying the kiss and the moments leading up to it.
I think you’re fucking amazing for everything you’ve done. I’m proud of you, Clarissa.
I don’t know what to make of that information, but in the moment, it had had such an extreme effect on me that I had kissed him.
And when the kiss was over, all I’d wanted was more.
I’d gotten almost nothing accomplished all day, constantly checking my phone for his texts and the door for his shadow. But now, now that I’m distracted by work, he appears, acting like nothing happened.
“I’m just here to see my sweet. And look, I brought sweets for my sweet.” He says with a cheesy grin, then stands up and holds out a box. I take it, surprised at the gesture. I hardly even notice as he leans over and presses a kiss to my cheek.
I give the box a shake. It’s heavy, about the size of a shoe box. “What is this?” “Open it and see,” he answers, infuriatingly.
I consider and then hold it out to him. “I don’t want it.” It’s been a weird enough day, I’m not sure if I can handle an unsolicited, surprise gift.
His eyes flash hurt. “I wasn’t asking if you wanted it or not. Open the damn box, Clarissa. Everyone is looking.” Matthias turns to the neighboring table and says, “It’s just a belated birthday gift. Her birthday was last month. I’m a terrible boyfriend.” His self-deprecating explanation makes them break out into smiles, and I want to throw the box at them for falling for his charm.
Gingerly, not entirely convinced that it’s not a prank, I tear away a strip of the wrapping paper. It reveals the corner of the box. And I instantly know what it is. There’s a hint of yellow, green, red, and, of course, the trademarked, literally trademarked, purple.
It’s a box of Caramello Koalas. I can tell by just a corner of the box.
Grumpiness gives way to awkward speechlessness as I stare at the box, mouth dropped open.
“This is a box of Caramello Koalas,” I state.
He nods with a proud smile.
“H-How did you get this?” I’m stunned. For a bunch of different reasons.
“Um.” He laughs. “You don’t want to know. Don’t you like them?”
I don’t like them. I fucking love them. In Sydney, I’d pretty much lived on them. A supermarket chocolate treat common in Australia, it is basically a chocolate shaped koala with caramel inside; it is hardly haute cuisine, but I couldn’t get enough of them. Everywhere I went, I carried a stash of Caramello Koalas. But how would he know that? By the time I’d moved to Australia, Matthias had lived in New York for years. He couldn’t have known.
“I cannot even imagine how you would know that.”
He shakes his head and looks disappointed. “You’re kidding, right? You don’t remember when I came over to Sydney one time? There was a big bowl of chocolates on the table in the employee kitchen, I accidentally touched a Caramello Koala and you snatched it out of my hand.”
I have a vague recollection of the incident at best, but to be honest, there’s really no reason not to believe him. I will stab a bitch who touches my Caramello Koalas. And I haven’t had one in six long months.
“I… don’t know what to say, Matthias.” The gift is extremely thoughtful. Monetarily insignificant, but something only someone who knew me would get. Why is that someone continuing to be Matthias?
“Well, you could say, ‘thanks for this giant box of Caramello Koalas, sorry I almost amputated your arm up to the elbow that one time you accidentally touched one trying to dig through the box for a Flake?'”