There’s that feeling of mischief again. It’s like it’s in the air, and it has us both captured. It’s clear in Thomas’s smile—and I’m sure in mine, as well.
“Step One in what? Towards what?”
My curiosity is, admittedly, overwhelming—to the point I may be running a slight temperature.
Is that a normal symptom of curiosity? No wonder it’s so dangerous to felines.
Yet my husband’s refusing to indulge my question. Silently, he takes a single step towards me.
That isn’t helping to solve my curiosity one bit. In fact, my feverishness is suddenly getting worse.
“Goddammit, Thomas.”
Out of frustration, I grab that smiling face of his and pull it towards me, not stopping until my lips are softly touching his ear.
“Don’t like answering questions, do you?” I whisper, before giving his earlobe a firm little bite.
And my husband still doesn’t answer the question. All he does is lean down slightly to adorn my neck with slow, lingering kisses. Thomas is holding both my arms as his lips float up towards mine, and we spend a lengthy few moments returning to where we were before the last hallway interruption.
My curiosity-induced fever is at an all-time high by the time we stop, but I don’t feel ill in the least.
“To answer your question,” Thomas whispers, at long last, “I don’t know. But I’d like to find out. Wouldn’t you?”
“I think so, Thomas. I think so.”
“Our cocktails await, my love.”
“And your olives…”
“Oh! How could I forget?”
Thomas lets go of me and makes a beeline back towards the bar.
“I’m quite pleased to learn how olives still interest you above everything, and I do mean everything else.”
To be fair and honest, I’m very much looking forward to returning to my own drink as well as I drift to the bar.
“I’m smart enough to spot that sarcasm, my love. Or am I?”
My feverishness recedes, and a sense of comfort washes over me as we retake our usual spots at the bar.
“Are you asking about the nature of my comment?” I ask, picking up my martini glass by its stem.
“If I were, what would you say?”
My drink is still nicely chilled as I take a sip. So much is happening in such a short time.
“I suppose I was being straightforward, Thomas. I do enjoy your quirks, and I’m always finding new ones.”
Thomas demolishes the last of his olives in one bite.
“Good to know I’m not a bore.”
“Ohhhh—I didn’t say that.”
My husband startles me, again, by letting out a few forceful coughs before gulping down everything that remains in his glass.
“I just choked on my fucking olives. That’s not boring, I hope.”