Toast (an excerpt)

Bennett, Christina. "Toast." One Step Ahead, 2022, pp. 32-33.

Approximately Chapter 8.

Nina woke for the second time that morning, but kept her eyes closed against the sunlight.  Earlier that morning, before the sunrise, she awoke to David embracing her.  He’d pressed his body in close to hers, nuzzling her ear and shoulder until she finally rolled over in his arms.  With heavy eyelids and parted lips, Nina had watched as his fingers caressed her belly.  She’d noted his hands- the long fingers and elegant articulation of each knuckle.  His rings had been warm against her skin as he slid a flattened hand up between her breasts.  He’d claimed her nipples- one after the other- with lingering kisses and sucking that sent a ripple through her entire body.  Then he’d taken her, slid into her slowly as the sun rose and stirred another orgasm more insane than the two he’d given her the night before.  Nina remembered crying out and caring very little for any neighbors or innocent children within earshot. The two of them had fallen back to sleep around four-thirty; David still between her legs and her arms draped over his shoulders.

It was just nine-thirty now and Nina was trying desperately not to smile like a fool as she recalled the morning’s events. She turned her face into the pillow for a moment to gather herself.  The evening was so much more than she expected when she agreed to go home with him.  Yes, sure, the man was incredibly charming, incredibly handsome, seemingly a gentleman and not a murderer, but an actual expert in bed, she had not expected.  Before every new sexual encounter she always hoped, but had never once been quite as satisfied as she felt this very moment.

With a start, Nina found herself alone in the massive bed.  She listened for David, but then remembered his condo was enormous.  The reality of her situation began to dull away the bliss she’d been feeling.  She was completely naked in the bed of a man she barely knew and had the nerve to sleep in. Light filtered in through the windows and she heard the faint splash as cars speed through the slush and snow outside.  She exhaled, staving off the paranoia that was prickling over her skin.

Just as she began to wonder where her phone might be, she caught movement out of the corner of her eye.  David was seated across the room, under a bay of tall windows.  His glasses were back but that beautiful chest was still bare, save for a brown robe that was tied lightly. He held a book as if he’d been reading, but he was looking at her now.  She met his gaze and had the curious feeling he’d been watching her sleep.  

They smiled at each, agreeing silently that there was no way they could play this off.  Last night had been incredible, they both knew it, and neither was prepared to deny it.  “Good Morning!” he said as pleasantly as one greets a colleague stepping onto an elevator.

Her smile brightened, “Good Morning.”  Finally, he rose from his seat and strode toward the bed, bending at the waist to kiss her.  He had to be the last tall man in the city of Chicago, she thought, at the same time recalling just how much she’d enjoyed every inch of him the night before.  This could still prove to have been a terrible mistake- she panicked a little even as they smooched in the bright morning light.

“Breakfast?” he offered and her panic retreated.  Serial killers don’t poison you with coffee after sex right?  Then she remembered, he taught at the university.  He’d been surrounded by friends last night.  He had not even expected her to return to the bar.  He was an upstanding member of society- he was not a murderer!  He better not be a murderer, she thought, looking him over.  That would just be a damn shame.

A little while later, Nina tiptoed into the kitchen wearing a robe David had offered her.  His back was to her as he busied himself breaking eggs into a bowl, “Perfect timing - how do you like your eggs?” 

“Soft,” she chirped sweetly, taking a seat at the table.  She watched him break more eggs single-handed and impressively, did not sling any egg whites across the counter or down the side of the bowl.  He stirred something she couldn’t see in another pan and flipped it over with a professional-looking spatula.  “I’m sensing some skills here, sir.”

“My mother has no daughters.” He said cheekily over his shoulder.  “I was the youngest, consequently I became her sous chef.”  His movements were practiced, and quick she noted as he moved between stove, toaster and refrigerator.  “Coffee?”

“Yes, please.  Can I help with anything?” she asked even though she was perfectly content to stay right where she was, watching him..  He wore suede slippers and a pair of joggers that left absolutely nothing to the imagination.  

“No.  You relax.”  He grinned at her and set butter and jam at the center of the table.  She realized then that the table had already been set.  Elegant flatware was placed on either side of each placemat, and the juice glasses were filled very nearly to the brim.  “Cream? Sugar?”

“Yes.” She watched as he poured the steaming coffee from a French press.  He used raw sugar and real heavy cream.  Nina thought about the fake Coffemate creamer back home in her fridge.  Coffee whitener, the bottle said, like some archaic beauty product. She watched him stir and again, noted the silver rings he wore on his ring and fore fingers.  Both had been in her mouth last night. And other places.  The memory sent a lightning bolt from her stomach to her groin.  She shifted in her chair, but slyly replayed the scene in her mind even as he set the coffee cup in front of her.  She cleared her throat to disguise her arousal, “Thank you.”

“You are very welcome.”  He moved back to the stove and went to work on the eggs.  While his back was turned, she frantically searched the enormous robe pockets for her phone.  Finding it at last, she quickly unlocked it and typed out a message to her sister. 

GM, I’m alive and Sis this man…

“How was your shower?” He asked before she could read her sister's response. 

“It was great actually.”  She flipped the phone screen side down on the table as it pinged. 

“Did you get a good look in the medicine cabinet?  Have you decided whether or not I’m crazy?”  He set a plate of eggs, what appeared to be sauteed lobster, and fruit down in front of her.  He set his own plate down on the opposite side of the table.

“Oh yeah, you’re a psychopath,” she answered quickly, suddenly realizing how hungry she was.  She turned the plate to admire it.  He’d arranged the eggs and lobster perfectly.  The fruit was in its own bowl, safe from the savory butter sauce of the lobster.  “You like to cook,” she said finally.

“Is that an accusation?”  He draped a printed cloth napkin across her lap and she considered pulling him in for a kiss, but decided against it.

“I’m sorry, no, but this looks amazing.  And I have to admit you struck me as a dinner-out kind of guy.”

“I used to cook a lot when I was married, but now, it's just me and yes I’m always meeting a friend or a colleague for lunch or dinner.  However, I still enjoy breakfast at home.”  

“How long were you married?”  Nina tried to make the question soft, light as if the answer wouldn’t matter.

David placed the French press and a silver toast holder down on the table.  “Fifteen years.”

She took a bite of the eggs.  As she suspected, fucking perfect temperature and consistency.  “How long ago did you divorce?”  She’d asked these questions so many times before.  At her age, it seemed that every man she dated was either divorced or fresh out of a “situation”, or secretly still married!   She was less concerned about the latter.  Unless David kept this apartment specifically for his indiscretions; she’d seen absolutely no evidence of a woman.  

“Fifteen years, this past November.  Although technically, we hosted our annual holiday party together that year. So I guess technically, January will be fifteen years?”  He folded his napkin over his lap and said a quick prayer over the food before taking his first bite.  Nina nodded, but said nothing.  Only occupied herself by pulling a perfect triangle of toast from the holder and spreading it with butter and a little jam. This man was bougier than her, she though eyeing the polished silver contraption made specifically for holding toast.  “Have you ever been married?”

His question came just as Nina took a bite of her toast.  She took her time chewing, then sipped some juice.  “No.”  He seemed to frown at her response, like he didn’t believe her.  She did not elaborate, even though he seemed to be waiting for more context.   When she didn’t continue, he reached for his coffee.  Nina suddenly felt a little sick, like she’d revealed more by saying nothing at all.  

“None of them came correct huh?” he offered, using flattery to avoid an awkward moment.  
“Exactly,” she smiled appreciatively at him.  A gentleman, not a murderer, the voice in her head decided.  She watched him piling bits of egg onto a corner of his toast before enjoying another bite.  Feeling the bliss from earlier easing back over her, she elected not to think too far beyond this moment.  She allowed herself to consider, to toy with the idea that this could be the beginning of something.