You don’t tell me what you ordered.
You just sit me down, place a napkin over my lap, and smile when I try to peek inside the bags.
You laugh and pull the first container closer.
The first bite is warm and crispy, with a soft center that practically melts when I chew. Before I can guess what it is, you give me something completely different—cool, creamy, and sweet enough to linger on my tongue.
“You’re doing that on purpose.”
You want me paying attention to every bite.
Warm sauce coating my lips, cold drinks washing it away, fluffy bread followed by something dense and rich.
At first, I’m just hungry.
That slow warmth in my stomach.
The comfortable weight beginning to settle there.
You rest your hand over my belly and continue feeding me.
“Tell me when you notice the difference.”
A few bites later, I shift in my seat.
My waistband feels tighter now. My stomach presses more firmly beneath your palm, and every swallow seems easier to notice than the one before.
You give me another bite.
The hunger disappears, replaced by a deep, heavy fullness that makes me lean back slightly.
Then you uncover one last small dessert.
You hold the spoon in front of my mouth.
“You really like making me ask, don’t you?”
I look at the spoon again.
Your smile immediately tells me I gave you exactly what you wanted.
And I open my mouth for you.
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