Friday Fodder – Imagination

It was almost time. Butterflies fought for space in my stomach and a lump battled for air in my throat. My eyes darted from the clock to the window and back down to the immaculately set table before me. There was no sign of movement outside. A long hot tear of wax slid down the side of one of the candles and I checked on the vegetables in the oven. I paused for a moment and wondered if he would even eat vegetables. I had never cooked for someone like him before. It smelled so great, I thought. Everything appeared to be coming along nicely.

I reached for two wine glasses and gave them a wash before placing them gently on the counter. They had hardly seen the world outside of the cupboard and were mostly used to make non-alcoholic drinks appear fancier. I pulled out a well-aged wine bottle, gifted by the man who would be attending dinner tonight. I couldn’t believe the date on it – it was centuries old! The bottle read: Established Tastes, and I was certain he had very well-established tastes indeed.

I could feel my name on the lips of the townsfolk. They warned me not to accept his gift and invite him into my home this way. They feared for me like it was the end of life itself. I was completely offended by their ridiculous nonsense. Surely they were jealous, dissuading me from a mysterious and handsome man who displayed such chivalry.

The vegetables were soft on the inside with a crunchy, roasted exterior and, as I pulled the tray from the oven, the entire house became aromatic with the delightful scent of herbs and spices.

Suddenly, I heard the front gate swing open. I whipped off my apron and checked my hair and makeup in the hall mirror on the way to the front door. Perfect! Three loud knocks. I took a deep breath and allowed the wave of excitement to wash over me. This is it. I reached for the doorknob and pulled it open.

“Good Evening,” he said, bowing his head slightly. I immediately fell into a pool of fantasy with his enchantingly, silver eyes.

“Please come in,” I invited. He smiled and stepped inside, breezing past me with an aristocratic charm. I observed as he inconspicuously made judgements on my décor and layout.

“I love your style,” he announced, gently stroking the frame of one of my favourite paintings. My heart skipped a beat. “Thank you. That’s from a local artist in my hometown.”

Our eyes met and time stopped. I was lost for a moment in the intense magnetic attraction. He said something else, but I didn’t hear it.

“Shall we?” I motioned to the table, still intoxicated by his very presence. It wasn’t long until we were captivated in conversation, giggling and laughing over dinner. He commented on the seasonings, guessing almost all of them on his second bite and commending my handiwork.

“It’s not often that I have a meal made for me…” he said, pausing between bites, “I haven’t cooked for others much either, now that I think about it.”

“Maybe we should do this again at your place sometime?” I suggested, with apparent eagerness. His eyes dashed to meet mine, petrifying me instantly.

“I would like that.”

My face was suddenly on fire. I cleared my throat did my best to focus on eating. Gallantly, he swept me up into quick-witted anecdotes, and once again I was deep-diving into his ocean eyes. All I could see were his eyes, close to mine. His face close to mine. His lips close to mine. His body close to mine. I had the entire scene playing out in my head and momentarily wondered if he suspected, smirking to myself.

“How long have you been living here?” He queried.

“Oh, about six months now. How about you?”

My question was met with a playful expression, “Hard to say really. I’ve been here for such a long time…”

I could feel my heart pounding. Was he hinting at my suspicion?

“How did you get a bottle of wine that old?” I piled on.

He flashed a wider grin revealing two particularly sharp canines. Downing his wine completely, he calmly collected our plates and took them to the sink, “You’ve quite the imagination, you know.”