Page 18 of Love Letters from a Libra
“Sweet. Slightly unpredictable. Not always in season.”
She rolled her eyes but couldn’t quite suppress her smile. “That’s the kind of line that works on women who don’t know better.”
“Is it working?” I asked, genuinely curious.
She took a deliberate bite of mango, the sugar leaving a sheen on her lips. “I’ll let you know.”
We continued walking, eating our fruit in silence.
“Oh, there’s a noodle stand over there. It smells amazing.” Zanaa nodded toward the vendor.
“Good eye. I heard they have the best drunken noodles in town.”
We joined the short line, standing close. Our physical contact now felt easy, and her movements accommodated my presence.While we waited, I leaned down with my lips close to her ear. “Some things don’t require words, just energy.”
Zanaa shivered slightly as my lips brushed lightly on her neck. I half expected her to pull away as my lips hovered beneath her jaw. She turned toward me. Her eyes held mine like they were holding a question we wanted to answer with our lips. Then the line moved, and it was our turn to order. We stepped forward as if the almost kiss hadn’t happened.
After ordering, we collected our spicy noodles and sat down to eat.
“This is really good. This whole evening was unexpected. Thank you,” Zanaa murmured.
“It was.” I agreed, not filling the space with unnecessary words.
After eating, we continued through the market. Zanaa’s body was now relaxed against mine, trusting in a way she hadn’t before the meditation class. As the wind picked up, I removed my jacket and draped it over her shoulders without asking.
“Thank you,” she murmured, pulling it tighter around herself.
We exited the market. The night settled around us, and the crowd thinned as we moved away from the main strip, where we reached my car.
“How about a nightcap? I’m honestly not ready for the night to end,” I asked, looking into her eyes.
“Why are you looking into my eyes like that?” Zanaa giggled shyly.
“Your eyes are pretty.”
Zanaa pulled her lip in with her teeth. “Sure, I’ll join you for a nightcap, but only if your definition of ‘nightcap’ involves 80s R&B and some good wine.”
I raised my eyebrows. "I have bourbon.”
“That'll work.”
We took a short ride to my place. My building was an old brownstone, converted into three units. Zanaa arched an eyebrow when she noticed the keypad. “Ah, you’re secretly rich.”
“Nope, I’m a renter with good credit and a nosy ass landlord,” I said, punching in the code.
Inside, she lingered in the entryway, taking in the minimalist furniture and the art prints in mismatched frames.
“You want a drink or a playlist first?” I asked.
She weighed the options. “Playlist. If your music taste is trash, I’m leaving. No hard feelings.” She laughed.
I scrolled to my ‘late night’ queue and let the first chords of Sade spill into the air.
She exhaled, shoulders dropping dramatically. “Okay, you pass.”
I scoffed. “Come on now, give me a little credit.”
Zanaa laughed. “Okay, I hear you. Where’s your restroom? I’d like to freshen up.”
