New Home

"Oh," you begin, absently tucking your hair behind your ear. "I'm actually moving soon. I was on my way back from taking a load... Of my stuff, I mean." Your blush intensifies, a part of you hoping he had the same thought about your unedited statement as you. He laughs lightly, sincerely.

"Well, that's a big change," he states, as obvious as the comment is. "Where are you moving to?"

"Livingston."

His lips part slightly, eyes widening a bit in surprise. After only a second, his smile returns.

"I live in Livingston."

"Really?" you mimic his surprise before letting out a giggle. What a coincidence! He laughs along with you.

The doors open once more, a staff member entering the room and approaching the two of you.

Apparently, you do not get to choose your meal, the waitress setting a small bowl in front of each of you.

"Lobster bisque," she states simply, almost robotically, before leaving the two of you to what must be your first course.

Silence falls over the room briefly as you both attack the soup with gusto.

"I'm surprised a small hotel in a land-locked state can make such a good bisque," he finally comments. You nod in agreement. The last time you had a such a clearly properly prepared bisque, you were along the Maine coast.

Silence fell once more.

The instant you were both finished with the soup, the doors opened once more, this time revealing two staff members. Each took your empty dishes away with one hand, replacing them with plates with the other.

"Venison in blueberry sauce," the two waitresses say in perfect unison. A brief glance towards Freya tells you that he is not particularly bothered by the synchronicity, so you shake the unnerving feeling to focus on your main course.

It is quite the hunk of meat. They did not skimp on serving size here. The meat is a perfect medium rare, the sauce a wise choice of accompaniment.

The more you eat, the less you feel able to sit still in your chair. Your breath seems to come slightly heavier, your heart beating slightly quicker. You glance at your company through the corner of your eye.

As you take in his appearance once more, you feel the warmth building within you. You pray that the dampness you feel doesn't become visible through your pants.

Shaking yourself, you **** your focus back onto the food. This is ridiculous. What's gotten into you tonight?

What's going to get into you tonight?

The italic text drives your blush hotter.

In an attempt to cool down, you take a sip of the wine which at some point was placed in front of you.