Melting Silver
“Please don’t make me get up,” she says softly, looking at me with those eyes that look like molten silver in the pre-morning light. “It’s only half-seven and I didn’t get much sleep,” she tries winking at me, but can’t quite manage without scrunching up her other eye too, and it breaks my attempts to ever deny her anything. I lean down and place a gentle kiss on her forehead.
“I know, I know,” I placate, holding up my hands in surrender. “I was also there, if you remember.” I smile down at her, wanting nothing more than to crawl back in the warm bed, but having to get ready. “But now I have to go to practice. You don’t have to get up with me, you know?”
“But I want to,” she sticks out her lower lip, her eyelashes fluttering dramatically. “And besides, you like having breakfast with me the morning after.” Never mind that it’s been almost two years of morning-afters. “It’s tradition. And then I can finish up my article for The Quibbler, and I’ll even have time to take a nap before you come home.”
“Okay, first one in the kitchen gets to choose the takeout tonight.” That spurs her like I knew it would, because she’s always trying to convince me to try new foods. On our first date, she convinced me to try Vindaloo curry, and I was instantly in love — with the curry, with the way the stars seemed to shine silver out of her eyes — with her.
