Burgers and Shakes
"Here we are," she whispers.
I slowly catch a smile play across my face and I wonder how I could have left her in the first place. She smiles in return. I become aware of the briefcase hanging on my arm.
I nod and close the gap between us, stepping up one more stair. She grins at this expected arrival and I kiss her. She kisses me back, and I'm glad that this conflict is over. I'm very close to her now; I realize how much I missed looking into her eyes like this.
She turns to head into the apartment, nodding for me to follow her. Given. I continue up the rest of the stairs next to her, my arm finding a comfortable spot around her. She runs her fingers over mine at her side before sliding the key into the slot, opening the door, and bringing the two of us inside.
We head up the stairs together, engulfed in the other's presence. I like to watch her. I don't care where we are, I just watch her. It's true. I'm not lying.
She opens the door to her apartment and I'm glad I was lurking in the first place. Her hand is still firm inside of mine, fitting perfectly. We march inside and fall onto her bed. She pulls the barrette out of her hair and tosses it roughly before it settles originally on her shoulders. I smile at her weary appearance and pull her waist down onto the bed next to me.
She smiles, half bashful-half smirking, and I kiss the smile. She kisses me back just as quickly, then both of my cheeks before she gets up and holds up a finger to me.
"What?" I ask as she dashes to the kitchen. I sit up on the bed against the headboard and play with my hands in my lap, waiting for her to come back. It feels like forever since we talked at the L station. I consider her words. She said she was happy. Because she was with me. She said things were good, because she was with me. She compared her life before to mine: she said she was in a bad marriage, a life she didn't enjoy.
That must mean that she is happy now. I love when she's happy. Now, in this mood, wait for her to bound into the room with a gargantuan smile on her face. Maybe she's *that* happy.
But I guess I don't need that. For when she comes in the room with a different smile on her face, a smaller more mischievous smile, I realize that she *is* that happy.
"What?" I ask again, laughing at her appearance's smile. She's pulled her hair back up however and is staring at me from the door.
"Burgers and shakes," she says flirtatiously. "On me."