Page 75 of Falling in Love with A Tiny Bat

Stiff, I attempt to get a better look and identify what he’s up to. He’s got the frying pan in one hand, a long pair of chopsticks in the other.

He’s not…

Surely he isn’t making one of the most difficult types of eggs ever.

He hates eggs. And rice. And, you know,food.

Where in the world did he learn how to makeomurice?

“Morning, angel,” he says, without looking my way.

My mouth goes dry, and it occurs to me I have not closed it for a solid minute.

Alexios tilts his head back toward the table. “Go ahead and take a seat.”

My gaze skids toward the table, and I find more flowers. They’re woven into a quilt of petals that cushions a bowl made out of a melon. Strawberries cut like stars create a foundation for the array of other fruits shaped to look like a lavish garden with two snuggling bats in the center.

“You can start on the fruit,” Alexios notes, plating the pillowy egg atop a bed of fried rice. Surgically, he checks the contents in a generic plastic ketchup bottle that I use sometimes when I host cookouts. “I’m about to test my hand at kanji…” he murmurs.“May Alana’s obsession with it in ninth grade not fail me now…”

Dazed, I sit myself down, pluck a fruit flower, and stare.

Alexios startles me when he sets the plate of omurice in the spot perfectly framed by flowers before me.

Japanese letters written in ketchup rest across the fluffy egg, tiny hearts speckling every empty spot.

“Oh.” Alexios returns to the stove, opens the cabinet beside it, and finds his way back to me, setting a shaker down. “It might need some salt. The recipe saidsalt to taste, and, well, I wasn’t going to attempt that one.”

“Smart…” I lift the spoon on the side of the plate, trying desperately to keep it together. “What does it say?”

Pulling out the chair beside me, Alexios shapes his hands into a heart as he sits down. “Aishitemasu.” My heart trips, because I know that one before he clarifies: “I love you.”

The only logical thing for me to do at this point is cut my spoon directly through the most detailed Japanese character, scoop up egg and rice, and shove the mouthful in my face. So, obviously, this is what I do. Post haste.

Cracking the two halves of his hand heart apart, Alexios pouts.

The viciousness is quite entirely all I can do to keep from sobbing.

After choking back tears throughout breakfast while Alexios picked at the figs in the fruit display, I am not ready for him to lead me back up the stairs, along the petal path, to whatever next activity he has coordinated.

“Full disclosure,” he says, as we approach the ominous guest bedroom door, “you may not be comfortable with this next part.”

My guy, my emotions are already on the verge of collapse, what more could you—

He opens the door for me and stands back so I can see inside.

It’s…a photo set. He’s erected a crisp white sheet behind thesmall cream day bed I normally keep by the window in this room. More flowers and greenery flood the space, creating an illusion of having walked into a professional studio. Apart from the sea of lavish foliage, stunning dresses pile high on the bed, purples and greens and blacks and whites. My colors. Done up in pristine elegance.

“Where…” I clear my throat and moisten my lips. “Where did you get all this?”

“I work in a flower shop in Faerie sometimes, so I have a few connections.” Heat deepens the shade in his cheeks as he lets his gaze skim the clothing on the bed. “As for those…those are mine.”

“Yours?”

To clarify, he lifts his hand and lets the glove he always wears disappear, then reappear.

My heart thuds.

“That’s the part I don’t know whether or not you’ll be comfortable with.”

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