-For dessert, the chef’s special today is crepe souffle, - rattled off our feminine looking waiter. He was so nervous that his apple cheeks were ripening before our eyes.
The waiter was looking at us as we were looking at each other and agreeing upon taking the sweet risk.
-We are intrigued. Let’s do it.
I was watching him and thinking to myself that he had a very soft voice. Masculine, deep. Quite therapeutic. He put his big warm hand on mine and our table sank into silence.
-Tell me more, - he gently squeezed my hand.
-What would you like to know?
-I want to know everything I don’t know about you yet.
-Alright.
I freed my hand from under his and slowly began unbuttoning myself. Button after button. Then I dove inside my chest with my fingers and scooped up a thick mess of fears, weaknesses and dreams. I put it all on the table right next to the basket of French baguette, handed him a fork and said “bon appetit”.
He was biting and nibbling, chewing and swallowing me piece by piece as I was sitting and crying into a glass of white wine.