Page 32 of Cinematic Destinies
Betty fixed the couch with sheets and a comforter. She fluffed the pillow and said, “There. You should be all set. I left an extra toothbrush out for you in the bathroom.”
“Thank you.”
“Well, good night.”
“Good night.”
She puttered to her bedroom, stopped at the doorway, and inadvertently turned to see Khalil pulling off his shirt. She found herself gazing at the contours of his back, his smooth dark skin, and his muscular arms. He started to turn, and she quickly hurried into the bedroom, closing the door behind her.
BETTY WOKE UP THE NEXT MORNINGand lay in bed, feeling more rested than she had in a long time. Flashes of the night before popped into her mind: the effortless conversation during dinner, the Scrabble board covered with medical terms that she and Khalil both found hysterical although they joked that no one else would, the look on his face during his ridiculous victory dance, the arch of his back. A smile slid across her face, but as soon as she felt it, she shook her head to shoo away the unwanted feelings. During medical school she had learned how to distance herself from her emotions and used those skills frequently in all areas of life. Suddenly, she noticed the smell of coffee brewing and something else she couldn’t discern. She stretched her arms and glanced over at the clock, stunned to see it was after ten. “I haven’t slept that long in years,” she muttered, slipping out of bed. She threw her robe on over her pajamas, brushed her teeth, and meandered out to the kitchen. Khalil was standing at the stove, gently stirring something in a sauté pan.
“Ah, you’re up. Good morning,” he said.
“Morning. I can’t believe how late I slept.”
“You needed to catch up.”
“Seems you’ve been up for a while,” she remarked.
“A few hours. I grabbed your key off the mail table and went out to get groceries. I’m makingshakshuka. My mother’s recipe. You got up just in time. I’m about to poach the eggs and then we can eat. There’s coffee in the pot.”
“Thank you,” she said, pouring a mug for herself. She took a sip. “Ooh, that’s good.”
“Strong, right?”
“Uh-huh.”
“I hate to admit it, but I’ve almost gotten used to the weak, bitter, barely palatable excuse for coffee at the hospital.”
“Oh, I get it,” Betty said. “Sometimes I actually miss that gross powdered cream substitute. I’ve gotten used to the artificial taste swirling with the staleness that coffee seems to have even when it’s freshly brewed.”
He smiled. “Okay, I’m dropping the eggs and then we can eat. Are you hungry?”
“Starving, but you really didn’t need to go to this trouble. It’s bad enough you’ve lost your weekend to my little home improvement project.”
“It’s no trouble.” Khalil glanced back at her. “This is a great way to spend the weekend if you ask me.”
She smiled as he turned away and started cracking the eggs in the fragrant green sauce.
“Can I do anything to help?” she asked.
“I bought a loaf of crusty bread. Maybe you could cut a couple slices.”
“I’m on it.”
Soon they were sitting at the table, eating.
“Mm,” Betty moaned. “This is delicious.”
“I’m glad you like it.”
“Best breakfast I’ve had in ages.”
He smiled. “I’ll take the compliment even though I know I’m only competing with those lame PowerBars you normally have.”
“Hey, don’t mock the PowerBars. It’s a meal on the go,” she said with a sarcastic giggle.
“Speaking of being on the go, I checked out the Broadway sites while you were sleeping. Once I figure out when we both have a night off, I’ll get tickets. What show do you want to see?”
