Page 110 of Petite Fleur

Until then, I’m confused on how I feel and how I should feel, and it’s frustrating that I can’t differentiate between the two.

I'm on the living room couch finishing up my last exam while Leon makes dinner. I don't know what it is, but it smells phenomenal.

It almost makes me want to slam this laptop closed and stick my face straight in whatever pot or pan he’s cooking from, but this is my environmental conservation exam, and I can’t fail it.

I can’t survive another year with Professor Turner if I fail.

Well, would I?

I kind of doubt Leon will ever let me finish college…

That’s depressing.

Wait, why am I even trying if I’m never going to finish my last year?

I’m half tempted to give this professor the middle finger and slam his laptop closed, but I won’t. I have to give myself the false sense of hope that he’ll someday either let me go or let me finish college.

When there’s around ten minutes left of my exam and I’m simply sitting there making awkward eye contact with this woman, Leon comes around the couch with a wooden spoon in his hand and offers me a bite.

I stare at the concoction worriedly, I don't want to be sick again so soon. Usually I am so careful that it can be years between exposures, it hasn't even been a month yet, but he puts a hand on my shoulder, giving it a light squeeze. "Trust me, please." He begs.

I stare up into his eyes, the one warm and inviting, the other cold and clinical and ask myself why should I trust him?

Better yet, why shouldn't I?

He scrubbed the entire kitchen clean after I got sick, threw away full trash bags of things that even had the potential of being contaminated, and he even got all new wooden cooking utensils because he read that wood can hold things in.

He spared no expense to make sure that didn't happen again. So, logically I should just trust him, right?

I keep eye contact with him while I open my mouth and he touches my chin to guide the wooden spoon in. The eye contactwe hold while I close my lips around this spoon shouldn't be as arousing as it is, but I even see his pupils dilate when he watches me.

Whatever Leon put on that spoon is phenomenal.

A variety of spices, sweetness, a touch of a kick, and a rich hearty tomato flavor burst onto my tongue. "Sweet potato and three bean chili, I know chili doesn't have beans in Texas but you need the protein. Is it okay?" He asks.

I smile up at him and nod. "It's amazing, and I'm not from Texas anyway, so beans are fine." I say with a casual laugh.

I know he knew I wasn't from Texas, but I guess he needed the reminder. That or he thought I would only want authentic Texas food, if that was the case I wouldn't be vegan.

I turn my attention back to the computer, barely missing the professor rolling her eyes at our small moment, but I choose to ignore it, and Leon walks away to go back into the kitchen.

When the buzzer finally signals that the exam time is over, the professor takes a look at the background of my camera view. I assume she's looking for Leon. "Dr. Aldon is a brilliant mind, you know? It's a waste for him to end up with the person you hire to mow your lawn." She says when she doesn't see him in view.

I don't even have the chance to respond when I feel Leon pull on my bun, effectively tilting my head backwards until I'm staring up at him. His fingers dive into my bun and tug at my roots whilehe closes the distance between us and presses his lips against mine.

I can taste a hint of bourbon on his breath, mixed with the chili, and his intoxicating cologne surrounds me, but what surprises me is the butterflies that erupt in my belly and the chills that overcome my body at the feeling of his lips on mine.

He puts a hand around my throat, making me almost gasp in surprise, but he isn't squeezing, he's just holding me by my throat in some kind of possessive show for the professor.

When he breaks the kiss, I'm left staring up at him, stunned. Based on how dilated his pupils are, I have a feeling he feels the same way, but he breaks our eye contact first and focuses on the laptop across my legs.

"My future wife will not be a gardener, she wants to be a sustainability consultant. I know you know nothing about that, but fun fact, it pays more than a low level psychology professor that will never be good enough to get tenure.” He states firmly.

This woman doesn't even have the chance to respond before he continues. “Even if she wanted to be a gardener, I would support that and my office would have the nicest property in all of Houston because I would be her top client." Leon brags.

I don't know if I'm more shocked that he's sticking up for me or that he just claimed that I will marry him someday.

I’m pretty sure I have to be willing to do that.

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