Page 30 of Fruit
“Apple pie,” he answers decisively.
“Birriaand apple pie. You’re a man of many worlds, huh?” I smile at him. His lips twitch in response.
“I guess. What about you? Last dessert?”
“Hmm…damn, that’s a hard one. But. Nutella cake. And a glass of milk. Or, no! Oh man, my aunt makes this cake—if you can call it that. It’s, like, layers ofgalletas Mariavery briefly dunked in milk and coats of melted chocolate, like the generic Nestlé milk chocolate kind, and then you put it in the fridge and it is so good.Sogood. She used to make it for my birthday, so it was always like this really special treat, you know?”
“You hate chocolate then,” he says with a teasing smile.
“Urgh, chocolate. Gross.” I stick my tongue out at him and he chuckles.
“I’m surprised you didn’t choose pomegranates.”
“Okay, first of all, fruit is not a dessert. Second of all, if I had to choose a fruit…strawberries. Definitely strawberries. When they’re in season and just at the edge of really sweet and you fucking bite into them. It just fills your mouth and your head and spring is all around you and it’s just—good.”
He looks at me with an odd little smile on his face I can’t interpret.
“What about you? Favourite fruit?”
“Figs, probably. I’ve always been a sucker for those. Even dry ones.”
A visceral memory hits me, more sensation than sight. The heat, the peeling of the fruit, the sweet scent and taste. I look at him, and suddenly, I understand his smile like a smell recalling a memory. I feel a rush of heat go through me as I look at his summer eyes.
There’s something about imagining him with a piece of fruit between his lips, something about being privy to the sensory pleasure it would bring, that has my gut clenching.
“Yeah,” I agree.
We finish eating and clean up in a comfortable silence. I see Sebastián giving Nina a bit of our food and smile.
“You’re going to spoil her,” I tell him. He looks at me, shrugging.
“She had a rough start. She deserves it,” he replies.
“Well, I can’t argue with that.”
I collect my things, no longer having an excuse to stay. Sebastián stops me just as I’m opening the front door, holding out something towards me. I look down to see he’s holding an umbrella. I look at him.
“Is this your damsel-in-distress boner again?” I ask. He snorts.
“It’s been in the club’s lost-and-found for ages,” he defends. I take the umbrella from him and dig something out of the folds of fabric, holding it out to him.
“Yeah? Someone left a brand-new umbrella with the tag still on?” I ask, waving said tag at him. Sebastián—Jesus—blushes.
He takes a step back, shrugging and shoving his hands into his pockets.
“It’s okay,” I tell him. “I won’t tell the kids you’re actually a complete softie,” I tease. He rolls his eyes, but the blush still colours his dark skin.
“It’s just an umbrella.”
“Mmm-hm.”
I step outside of his apartment and wave goodbye. As I walk down the stairs, I can’t keep the smile off my face.
**********
It’s late by the time I get home, having gone out with friends after dropping Nina off, but the memory of Sebastián’s smile, of his blush, the image of him eating figs in the summer heat, has followed me all day.
I turn on the glowing lamps of my apartment. It feels quiet and still without Nina to greet me. I go to the fridge and pour myself a glass of iced tea. The condensation chills my fingers. I let the drink chase away the heat of the day from my throat and lungs. My head tilts as I lower the glass and I look at my easel, standing alone by the window.
