Page 73 of For You, Sir

“Heavenly! Reminds me of my sister’s wedding cake,” I said, “but better.”

He smiled, briefly showing teeth. “You’re too kind.”

“How’d you make ‘em so tiny?” I squinted at the miniscule layers, each the barest fraction of an inch.

He shrugged, but a blush darkened his cheeks.

“It’s like a ship in a bottle!” I marveled.

“Flatterer,” he said accusingly, handing me a flute of Prosecco.

“Culinary genius,” I fired back, raising my glass.

Jun dimmed the lights, and we resumed the movie, snuggling close, two puzzle pieces made for each other. I traced his collarbone with my fingertips and wondered how I got so lucky.

During a lull in the second act, I slid my hand further down his chest. My fingertips brushed Jun’s nipple, and his breath caught in his throat. He seized my wrist, and I wasn’t sure if he was trying to make me to stop or demanding I continue. Sexual tension thickened the air, like static electricity waiting to snap.

I stirred my fingers again, and he made a helpless sound. Melting into me, urging me on. There, in the darkness, his lips found mine, and my hands mapped his perfect contours. The movie faded into unintelligible background noise as Jun unfolded in my arms. Before long, I had him splayed on the cushion, crying out in wild abandon, clutching at my hair, while I sucked him toward bliss.

My lover. My servant. My muse.

My Jun.

~

The next morning, I knew: today was the day. Before Jun decided on his next career move, I needed to pitch my own suggestion. My heart pounded just thinking about it, and I compounded the problem by drinking too much coffee.

“Hey, Jun. Want to go to the farmer’s market?” The prospect of leaving the house still made me anxious, but an open-air market sounded nice.

He smiled and looked up from his laptop. “I’d love to.”

We piled into Jun’s car, and I gave him directions that took us through the most beautiful areas of my neighborhood. Jacaranda andcrape myrtletrees lined the streets, blooming with riotous color: purple, pink, and red. I glanced at Jun out of the corner of my eye. Would he enjoy living in a community like this?

My heart beat fast as we pulled into the farmer’s market parking lot and got out of the car. Jun looked fine as hell as he stepped out, dressed in hip-hugging jeans that showed off his long legs, and a patterned blue and white button-up with birds on it.

We walked through the market together. Crisp white tents shaded tables laden with colorful produce and artisanal cheeses. Jun stopped by a peach stand and began selecting fruit using criteria I couldn’t fathom: smelling, inspecting, squeezing gently before adding them to his bag. He was picky as hell about which ones made the cut. It made me feel warm and fluttery to know a guy that discerning had somehow chosen me.

While Jun browsed at a stand with infused olive oils, I gazed out at the other shoppers milling around. Everyone was focused on their own business, and I felt pleasantly invisible, keeping my anxiety at a low, manageable simmer.

During my time as a shut-in, I had pictured the world as being full of hostile people—stalkers, disappointed fans, and internet trolls. But this taste of humdrum normality was nothing like the horror I’d been envisioning in my mind. Staying home and scrolling through the internet had probably exposed me to more toxic people in the last few months than in all my years of real life combined.

And I’d been missing out on the countless lovely details that everyday life had to offer: two leashed dogs meeting and sniffing each other curiously, kids playing under a table like it was a fortress, fruit vendors chatting amiably in Spanish.

Pulling up the drawbridge and living in seclusion had given me a sense of safety. But it kept me from all this beauty, too.

The line of dialogue Jun quoted came back to me: “I’ve counted up the cost, and I’ve got a lot of living to do…”I shouldn’t miss out on life itself, just to protect myself from imagined harm. I needed to stop listening to the toxic gossip that had gotten me so twisted up in the first place.

I fished my phone out of my pocket. A couple of social media platforms were beneficial to my career—those could stay. But there was one in particular that consistently made me miserable, and I couldn’t remember the last time I’d found it beneficial. I deleted my account on the spot before I could overthink it.

My ego-brain cried,“What have you done?”and scrambled for examples of all the things I’d be missing out on. When it couldn’t procure even one, my shoulders relaxed, and I tipped my face up to the sunshine.

“Ready to go?” Jun asked. He walked up to me, looking warm and bright as a sunflower, with tote bags bulging with produce.

Crap! He was done already? I still hadn’t worked up the nerve to ask what I wanted to ask. “Hang on,” I said. “Let’s grab a bite first.”

We dropped off our bags in the trunk and walked across the grass to a line of food trucks parked along the street.

A gaggle of kids ran past, engrossed in a game of tag. Even in an enormous field with plenty of room to run, one distracted boy changed directions, and crashed right into Jun’s legs.

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