Dating : Dulce de lovely

At quarter past midnight, the streets outside his apartment still teemed with concertgoers, club-seekers, and the freshly napped. She exhaled into the sky, the early summer humidity cradling her like a lover, before ringing for 3D.

The door was left ajar, AC blasting. He’d just returned from the studio and was making tea. Gave her a side hug (they’d met twice maybe?), dug out a clean towel (she always showered before), put on his latest track for her to check.

“You gotta try these.”

His crew from Colombia had brought him his favorite alfajores, double wrapped in gold foil, heavy as a roll of quarters.

“They’re serious,” she laughed, thinking it sweet he offered. His skin was a dark, freckled tan, and she traced the curve of his upper lip with a finger. “I won’t deprive you though.”

Sitting cross-legged in a borrowed tank, she convinced him to save the AC and open the window by the bed instead. She was hungry after, and dreamt of sweet nothings.