Sunday

I wonder if you know how drawn to you I am. Could you tell yesterday at breakfast?

I wanted everything to be perfect for you and then I kept burning the pancakes. Getting all flustered inside because I couldn't get my timing down or figure out how to regulate the heat on the gas burner.

It was nice watching you though. You moved around my kitchen preparing coffee as if you prepared coffee in my kitchen every day. Perhaps I kept burning the pancakes because I would get so distracted watching you. It felt nice to have someone there moving about me. Someone who felt comfortable opening the cupboards, the refrigerator, getting what you needed. No pretenses. No formality. It was easy to fantasize that we were an old couple doing our Sunday thing. Me cooking. You making coffee, heating the pancake syrup, leaning against the counter sharing small talk. How was the concert last night? What's on the agenda for today? It was easy to forget that we weren't alone and that I had two other guests for breakfast.

And when I finally finished burning most of the pancakes, I sat down at the table and picked up my coffee mug. It was the one you had given me. You had picked it out of the cupboard just for me. I noticed. It was such a little thing yet not. I looked over at you and smiled.

You smiled back.

Could we start every Sunday like this?