Eyes Like Honey - A Sakurai Sho Fanfic (12/?)
A little birthday present for myself. ;) Thanks for waiting, loyal readers! <3
Pairing: Sakurai Sho x Fictional Female (Reader) *see note below
Rating: R for whole series, PG-13 for Ch.12
Genre: Romance, Drama
Word count: 7,225
Plot: A 33-year-old singleton, Nijishima Kokoro, finds herself at a host club where she meets the club's most popular host, Sakurai Sho. The encounter propels Kokoro to explore a different kind of love as Sho helps Kokoro discover herself.
NOTE: This story reads like a shoujo manga--it is written in a fictitious first-person narrative where the reader is the protagonist. Please proceed with caution if you are uncomfortable with JE members having relationships with fictitious female characters (even if that female is you!).
Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11
Chapter Twelve: The Man With The Camera
“Second stop.” He came to a halt at the corner of an intersection. “Hope you like Italian.”
Trattoria Baccanale, the red, neon sign read.
The building itself looked aged. Light brown bricks made up the exterior and the arched entranceway was adorned with an elaborate carving. The doors leading into the restaurant were a rich mahogany hue, and there was a long line of people standing alongside the building waiting to be seated. I could smell roasted tomatoes and garlic sizzling in olive oil. My stomach growled in response to the tantalizing scents.
“Hungry?” he chuckled.
I smiled, embarrassed. “Looks like my stomach gave me away.”
I glanced at the crowd and wondered how long the wait would be. I started making my way to the end of the line, but felt a tug in the other direction. Without minding the others, he led us into the restaurant.
“Welcome to Trattoria Baccanale. Do you have a reservation with us today?” A tall, slender man greeted us.
“Sakurai, for two, at 11:30AM.”
“Mr. Sakurai. It’s our pleasure to have you. Right this way.”
He let go of my hand and gestured me to go first. “After you,” he insisted.
“Thanks…” I gave him a tiny smile before following the slender man to our table.
Even though it was midday outside, the ambience of the restaurant could trick you into thinking it was already evening. The warm, orange lighting set the tone for quiet conversations and gentle expressions. Upon arriving at our table, the man pulled out my seat, bowed, and left to return to his post at the front of the restaurant.
I adjusted myself in the seat. “Wow… this place is so fancy. How did you get reservations?”
He smiled apologetically but didn’t answer my question. “Was it too lavish for lunch?”
“Oh, n-no, that’s not what I meant…” I shook my head. “I’m… just not used to places like this.” Considering the line outside, I knew a lot of effort went into planning this lunch. Although I felt out of place, I didn’t want to sound unthankful.
“Me, neither,” he smiled reassuringly. He fixed his shirt and clasped his hands on the table. The cut of his top was dangerously alluring, his collarbones teasing me as they peeked from underneath the fabric.
“Kokoro-san.”
I must have been staring again. When I met his eyes, he was laughing through his nose. “S-Sorry…”
“The menu isn’t written on my face, you know.” He opened the drink menu and placed it in front of me so I could read it. I couldn’t help but notice his beautifully-shaped fingers and his well-groomed nails.
“Hello, my name is Kuroda and I’ll be your server today.” Another tall, slender man approached our table and gave a bow. “Would you like to start your meal with something to drink?”
“U-Uh…” I skimmed through the menu but nothing really came to mind.
“How about a red?” Sho-san suggested.
“S-Sure.”
He took the drink menu from my hands and took a brief glance at it. “Could you get her a glass of the 2011 Ruffino Riserva Ducale Oro?”
“Of course. And for you, sir?”
“I’ll just stick to water.”
“Very well,” Mr. Kuroda bowed and excused himself.
“Are you not going to drink?”
“I have to drive, don’t I?” he reminded.
“Oh…” I nodded. “That’s true.”
“What would you like to eat?” He stared at the menu positioned beside my silverware and opened it for me.”
I took a browse, but everything looked mouthwatering and I was having a hard time choosing.
“I hear their puttanesca is really good.” It was so very like him to do this. When in doubt, follow his lead. That, I’ve learned.
“I’ll take that, then.” I closed the menu without perusing it much at all. My mind drifted off for a brief moment as I wondered if this is what it’s like to date Sho-san. He never forced me to do or choose anything, and yet, he was so good at leading that I preferred to follow. Then, there was a millisecond of fear: what if I forget how to take care of myself? He was so skilled at it that recently, I haven’t had to.
“I think I’ll go with the spaghetti alle vongole.” His decision snapped me out of my own head. “…You okay?”
Clearly, my thoughts were written all over my face. “Y-Yeah,” I answered quickly.
“Hey, so I was thinking,” he began to speak, but Mr. Kuroda had returned with our drinks.
“Miss, your glass of 2011 Ruffino Riserva Ducale Oro. And sir, here is your water.” He placed the drinks in front of each of us.
“Thank you,” I smiled and gave a quick nod.
“Have you decided on your meal?” Mr. Kuroda clasped his hands in front of his body and waited for our response.
I looked at Sho-san to see if he wanted to order first. He returned eye contact and gave me a tiny smile. “She’ll have the puttanesca, and I’ll take the spaghetti alle vongole.”
I guess I never need to worry about who orders first.
“Very well,” Mr. Kuroda replied, and once more took his leave.
“Have you learned nothing since meeting me?” Sho-san sipped his water and threw me a cryptic question.
“…What do you mean?”
“You were wondering whether I was going to order first, weren’t you?” His eyes were sparkly and looked as though they were reading me like a book.
“You don’t miss a beat, do you…” I nervously bit my lip.
“What kind of host would I be if I didn’t let the lady go first?” He raised his eyebrows playfully.
A shaky laugh escaped my mouth. Of course. What was I thinking? I picked up the wine glass and took an unusually big gulp. He responded with a hearty chuckle.
“You should save some of that for your meal. It’ll pair well with your tomato-based pasta.” He unfolded the napkin on the table and placed it properly on his lap.
--
“This is incredible!” I exclaimed after a bite of my spaghetti. “The anchovies blend well with the tomatoes and the saltiness of the olives…”
“Hm?” He was listening earnestly. “What about the olives?”
I furrowed my eyebrows slightly, a bit apprehensive. “You… aren’t going to make fun of me?”
He finished chewing his bite. “I’ve never made fun of you for this,” he corrected.
“If by ‘never’ you mean ‘always,’ then yes, I agree with you,” I challenged.
“You just don’t like receiving compliments.”
“That’s not the probl…” The end of my sentence faded away. In truth, I knew that was the problem. My problem. He knew that, too. But, instead of giving a lecture on how I needed to change, he shifted the direction of the conversation slightly so that the spotlight went elsewhere. Instantly, I felt like I didn’t have to justify or explain myself. The tension in my shoulders loosened its grip.
“Besides, have I ever been that predictable?”
I pouted as I shook my head.
“So? What about those olives?” he encouraged me to continue.
“…Um, well, the saltiness of the olives adds depth to the simple flavors.”
“Can I try?” He held out his fork toward my plate.
“Ah, of course.” I slid my dish closer to him.
I watched his fingers as they skillfully twirled the fork, his well-groomed fingertips moving elegantly. He caught me staring and gave me a stifled smirk. He filled his cheeks with the spaghetti and his lips glistened from the olive oil.
“Mmm, you’re right. The olives accentuate the different flavors.” He wiped the corner of his mouth with his thumb.
Although his usual demeanor was nothing short of chivalrous perfection, it was only when he ate that I saw chinks in his armor. In these moments, I could see a carefree child stuffing his cheeks, finding joy in simple things without a care in the world. Glimpses of such innocence made him even more endearing. I vowed to myself that I would do whatever it takes to protect this side of him.
“Kokoro-san?”
“Y-Yes?!” I realized that I did this a lot whenever I was around him. Collecting my wandering thoughts, I blinked rapidly to refocus.
He let out a soft chuckle, then proceeded to pick up his plate and place it closer to me. “Want to try mine, too?”
“Oh, sure!” I twirled my fork and took a bite. My expression gave me away.
“Good, huh?”
“This may be the best spaghetti alle vongole I’ve ever had.” I brought my hand to my mouth as I chewed, enraptured by the dish.
“Clams are my favorite seafood,” he said as he picked up his dish again and placed it back in front of him.
“Oh, I didn’t know that.” Another tidbit to store away into my collection. Duly noted, Sho-san.
He took a sip of his water to clear his palate. “So, I was thinking…”
With those words, I suddenly remembered that he was about to say something before Mr. Kuroda had returned with our drinks. “Yes?”
“After lunch, I want to take you for a drive.”
I smiled back sincerely. “That sounds really nice.”
“Good,” he nodded. “And then after the drive, I was hoping you could come over to my house and cook dinner.”
I dropped my fork onto my plate and the clanking noise echoed throughout the restaurant. I bit my lips in embarrassment.
But, he had more to say. Amused at my reaction, he licked his lips and cleared his throat. “And after dinner, I was hoping you’d stay over for the night.”
I wasn’t even sure if I was breathing by this point. My hands moved inefficiently and meaninglessly, grabbing the napkin on my lap and wiping the top of the table even though there was nothing to clean.
“I promise your coffee will taste better this time.” He took another bite of his pasta and scanned my expression. “I bought you some sugar cubes and creamer, remember?”
To hear that those purchases were actually for me, to understand that he had gone through such trouble because he remembered how I liked my coffee, to infer that tonight could lead to such things… I took a sip of my wine in hopes of blaming my rosy cheeks on the alcohol.
“Excuse me for interrupting your meal. I’m Ban, the Executive Chef.”
A tall man stood beside our table with his hands behind his back. His long bangs were swept to the side, slightly messy, perhaps from hiding underneath a chef’s hat for some time. Prominent eyebrows rested above his sincere eyes, his eyelashes resembling angel wings as they fluttered with each blink. There were moles on and near his lips, adding a kind of allure to his otherwise proper look. What’s more, there was something eerily familiar about him.
“Hi, Chef,” Sho-san nodded politely. “Everything is delicious.”
Chef Ban bowed humbly. “It’s my pleasure to hear that.” Then, he turned to me and smiled a beautiful smile. “And you, Miss? Has everything been to your liking?”
I couldn’t stop staring. He began chuckling and asked me if there was something on his face. When he brought his left hand to his nose, I noticed the freckle on his middle finger. Sometimes, it’s not the obvious signs that bring back memories.
“B…Ban-chan?!” My eyes widened with surprise and satisfaction.
I knew it! I knew we had met before.
“…Excuse me, have we met?” Chef Ban tilted his head and inquired politely.
“It’s me, Nijishima! We sat next to each other in middle school.”
I could see his expression change from confusion to realization. “Is that really you? Is it Nijishima Kokoro-chan?”
“Yeah, it’s me!” I gave him a big smile.
“I’ll be darned,” he shook his head. “Thanks for coming in.”
“Oh, that’s all thanks to Sho-san.” I motioned my hand to the man sitting in front of me. He seemed amused by our conversation.
“Well, thank you for choosing Trattoria Baccanale,” Ban-chan bowed.
“Middle school classmates, huh?” Sho-san looked at me, then at Ban-chan. “What a reunion.”
“Isn’t it?” I said, amazed. “I had no idea you became a chef!”
“I went abroad for several years to learn the art of Italian cuisine.”
“You’ve always been a driven guy,” I crossed my arms in awe at his accomplishment.
“What about you? You look really happy.” Ban-chan glanced over at Sho-san, who was finishing his pasta.
“I am.” I made it a point to look at Sho-san as I uttered those words. His gaze met mine and I could feel my cheeks start burning.
“Looks like I’ve interrupted you two love birds for long enough,” Ban-chan chuckled.
“That’s all right,” Sho-san assured. “You’re an exceptional cook, by the way.”
“Thank you, sir,” Ban-chan kindly bowed his head. “It delights me to hear that.”
“Yeah, the puttanesca had such a depth of flavors. I’m thinking the key to the dish are the olives. Am I right? And the spaghetti alle vongole is just to die for. Probably the best I’ve ever had. And to think you made all this!”
Ban-chan laughed and looked at Sho-san. “She hasn’t changed a bit.”
Sho-san smiled back at him. “I’m glad.”
There he goes again. It’s these little things, the seemingly insignificant dialogue that tells me he sincerely cares. Even though he laughs at me and makes fun of my quirks, he can admit to a stranger that he finds them endearing. I felt ticklish all over as the warm and fuzzy feelings kicked in.
Ban-chan took a moment to look at me. “…But her taste in clothes did. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you look this girly, Nijishima.” He pushed his lips together and seemed deep in thought.
“Oh, this…” I touched the hem of my dress. “Just… thought I’d try something different.”
“I hope you didn’t take it to heart when we picked on you about being boyish.” Ban-chan scratched his temple with his fingers and looked full of regret.
I smiled to reassure him. “Don’t look so concerned, Ban-chan. I’ve always known that the boys in class didn’t see me as a romantic interest.”
“It’s not that,” he clarified. “It’s because we were all so comfortable around you.”
“I know, I’m used to it.”
“Back then, I thought there needed to be friction, as if attraction were measured by the amount of tension between two people. But that’s not true. Now that I’m over 30, I long to be with someone with whom I can be comfortable.” Ban-chan smiled nostalgically.
I had to let those words settle for a moment. It felt as though those years of struggling to love myself were not all in vain. Though delivered decades later, his words helped heal those bruises.
Sho-san cleared his throat to interrupt the conversation. “A lot of men realize that too late, don’t they?” He looked up at Ban-chan. Sho-san’s eyes seemed to see right through his thoughts.
Ban-chan’s eyelashes fluttered as his expression clouded for a split second. But before I could make out what that could mean, he flashed a big smile. “She’s a keeper.”
Sho-san didn’t say anything, but I could feel his eyes on me. His gaze felt so hot that I seriously believed they could bore a hole through me.
“I should head back into the kitchen,” Ban-chan wrapped up the conversation. “But it was really good seeing you again, Nijishima. Take good care of her, Sho-san. And do visit Trattoria Baccanale again.” He gave one last bow, then left our table.
I waved as he left smiling. When I looked over at Sho-san, he was already looking at me. Like magnets, he drew my eyes in to his.
“You do know that ‘comfortable’ is a compliment, right?”
“…Hm?” I felt exposed again. With him, it was only a matter of time before he read my mind.
“It’s also not the opposite of ‘attraction’, either.”
I managed a nod to acknowledge his statement, but my gaze had fallen to the empty dishes on the table.
“And to prove it,” he continued, “Consider my clientele. No good woman frequents a host club.”
I looked up at him again. His shiny, brown eyes brimmed with sincerity.
“Comfort means home.”
Do I feel like home to you?
I was much too embarrassed to ask, but his smile seemed to answer my question.
--
The line of people waiting for their seat at Trattoria Baccanale had grown even longer by the time we left. It was a leisurely lunch, and my watch read 1:00PM. He had paid for our meal while I was in the bathroom fixing my makeup, and refused to have me pay him back. As he led the way, I noticed his broad shoulders walking ahead of me. Sometimes, I truly felt like he was too good to be true.
Once we were back in his car, he paid for parking and we were on our way. I placed my hands on my knees and peeked over at the driver’s seat. His left hand was resting on the armrest. I could hold it if I wanted to, and I wanted to. But my fingers fidgeted uncourageously. So, instead, I looked out the passenger seat window at the passing scenery.
“Be my guest.” I faced him again and saw that he had turned over his hand so that his palm was facing up now, his fingers slightly spread apart as if to invite mine to intertwine. When I didn’t respond right away, he wiggled them playfully. “Isn’t this what you wanted to do?”
It was almost scary how he always knew what I wanted. Slowly, I met my hand with his. As our fingers weaved together, he gave a little squeeze and my toes curled with delight.
--
“…ro-san?”
“Nnngh…”
“Kokoro-san?”
I opened my eyes and realized the car had come to a stop. Oh, no! “I’m so sorry! I can’t believe I fell asleep…” I sighed in disapproval.
But, he seemed not to mind. “I’ll take that as a compliment toward my driving. Third stop, we’re here.”
But the point of going on a drive is to enjoy the conversations and physical closeness! I couldn’t believe my rudeness. “I wanted to spend that time with you,” I said regrettably.
“You did,” he smiled. “But it was pretty tough trying not to move my hand. I didn’t want to wake you.”
I looked down and noticed that his arm hadn’t moved at all, and that we were still holding hands. Suddenly, my palms started feeling sweaty. I retracted mine quickly and apologized.
“Let’s go. I want to show you something.” He opened his door and stepped outside.
Following suit, I exited the car and stretched, arms reaching upward toward the sky. One inhale gave me enough of a hint as to where we were.
“This is my favorite place to visit when I have a bad day and want to clear my head,” he said as he opened the trunk of his car.
The ocean wind swept through my hair and the smell of salt water hit my face. The early afternoon sun reflected brightly on the water and undulated with the rhythm of the waves. As I looked out into the distance, I heard him close the trunk. When I looked his way, I heard a click and it took a moment before I could register what was happening.
“I’d like to propose something.” He stood tall and faced me.
“…Yes?” The sun was in my eyes and I couldn’t keep them open.
“Let’s take some pictures here.” He raised the digital SLR up with his hand, then put the strap over his neck.
“Okay,” I replied. He doesn’t need to ask me, I thought.
“I want you to be my model.”
My eyes grew wide as I stared at him, but it wasn’t long before my eyes started hurting from the brightness. “Wh…n-no, no…” I shook my head vigorously.
“Why not?” There was a curiosity in his eyes.
“B…ecause I’m no model.”
“You are now.” Click. He took another photo of me and checked the data on the screen.
“Stop it…” I moved toward him and tried to grab the camera in his hand. Instead, he ended up grabbing me with his free hand and drew me in closer. Instantly, the ball was in his court.
“There’s a photo contest this winter,” he said as he gazed down at me. “I was thinking about entering.”
“…There’s a what?”
“A photo contest,” he repeated. “The theme this year is ‘Happiness.’”
Happiness. That word buzzed in my ears. I hadn’t forgotten what he had told me that night when he asked me to be his girlfriend. I wanted so much for him to trust in himself, too, to believe with his heart that he was capable of making others happy.
“Why me?” I asked.
He caught the stray strands of hair in my face and tucked them neatly behind my ear. His beautiful eyes looked at me endearingly.
“Because you actually make me believe in such a thing.”
Just like that. He could pull sweet nothings out of thin air. My heart thumped and my feelings for him grew. How could I say ‘no’ to him after that?
“If I win the grand prize…” He looked out into the ocean, though it didn’t seem like he was particularly taking in the scenery. There was a focus in his gaze and he didn’t blink for a while.
“…Yes?” I asked gently.
“…I’m going to quit my job at Akatsuki.”
I thought my heart had stopped beating. Standing in front of me was a Sho-san I didn't really know. I fell into a state of shock.
"It's been my childhood dream." He picked up the camera hanging around his neck with his hand and glanced over at me. "To be a photographer."
He turned his head back toward the ocean. I could hear the crashing of the waves like white noise in my ears. Somewhere in the back of my head, I could vaguely recall the conversation I had with Maki about his photography, but my mind couldn't process it at the moment.
"When I saw you that night by the water, I told you I took photos as a hobby. Which is true. I don't make a living off my photography."
I remained silent. His every word was weighty and focused.
"But I enjoy photography more than I do entertaining women for money." He paused for a moment. "I feel free when I see the world through these lenses."
Those beautiful eyes glimmered hopefully as the words left his mouth. He clenched his jaw just for a moment as I watched his Adam's apple move up and down. In that moment, I saw a mixture of determination and uncertainty, confidence and doubt.
"This is a big deal." My voice was raspy.
"Could be."
It was clear to me that his decision had not been made on a whim; he must have had this conversation with himself for years.
"Well, I don’t trust my modeling abilities, but I trust you."
He finally turned around and faced me. As if my words had fueled his strength, his clouded expression seemed to brighten up a little. There was even a smile forming at the corners of his mouth. He inched closer toward me and leaned in to plant a soft kiss on my forehead. My bangs got in the way and tickled my skin.
"Let's start over there," he pointed toward the beach.
I followed him down the parking lot until we came to a short stairway leading down to the shore. It would be too hard to walk in the sand with heels on, I thought. Just as I was about to take them off, my heel got caught in the crevice of the concrete stairs and I heard a loud snap. I had just enough time to realize what had happened before I felt my center of balance tip forward.
"...!"
Expecting sand in my face, I was thoroughly surprised to land on something a lot sturdier and upright. I felt an arm wrap around my waist and keep me from falling, and my nose got a whiff of his sweet cologne. When I grabbed his shirt, I pulled it down with me. My eyes were now staring at exposed collarbones.
"Are you okay?" he said immediately.
I nodded, but I knew my heels weren't. I looked down at my shoes in the sand. One leg was clearly shorter than the other. I could have gotten upset at myself for being clumsy and ruining a brand new pair of shoes. In fact, that would have been my first inclination. When it dawned on me that I wasn't beating myself over it, I realized how much he had changed me.
"I wasn't going to need them in the sand, anyway!" I giggled at myself and picked up my heels, one dangling and useless. Then, I ran off toward the shore where the sand was damp from the receding waves.
My toes felt the cool water and I let out a small sound of surprise. It wasn't as cold as I thought it'd be, though, and I felt brave enough to walk into the waves. My calves were now wet, too.
"Come on, it's really n..."
I turned to invite him over, but he was watching me through his camera lens. How long had he been taking photos of me? I started feeling a little self-conscious and my movements and expression became rigid and contrived.
He started walking over to where I was standing, then stopped just behind the line where the sand turned a darker hue. "Don't think about the camera. Pretend it's just you and me."
It was clear he had noticed my unnatural expressions and movements, and was trying to reassure me. But that was easier said than done. I'm no professional model, let’s remember that.
"That's a tough order..." I replied nervously.
He smiled and took off his shoes. Then, he neatly rolled his socks into them and combed back his hair. It was the first time I noticed his feet. His toenails were also neatly groomed, toes nicely shaped, with a little tuft of hair growing on his big toes. Sometimes, you find masculinity in the strangest of places, and this was one of them.
"All right. Want to play a game instead?" He walked over and left footprints in the wet sand.
I tilted my head curiously. "A game?"
"Mm-hmm. Let's see who can find the biggest seashell."
My eyes glimmered with excitement. I was pretty good at this sort of thing. "That sounds fun!"
"Let's come up with incentives. If you win, what would you like?"
"Oh..." I put my forefinger to my lips to think.
"A kiss?" Sho-san teased.
Only then did I realize how he could have misinterpreted my gesture. "N-No, no!" I shook my head side to side and quickly retracted my hand.
"You don’t want one?" His deep voice drew closer and I could feel his eyes on my lips.
"Th...at's not what I said..." I gulped.
"Then, a kiss it is," he said, satisfied. "And if I win..."
He traced my lips with his middle finger and observed my reaction. An audible exhale left my mouth and I felt my cheeks burning. He seemed to enjoy what he saw, because there was a smirk on his face.
"I want you to make omurice for me tonight." He slowly retracted his fingers from my lips.
Wait.
What just happened?
I felt like he had me dancing on the palm of his hand. My lips were tingling from his touch and I was embarrassed for even thinking that maybe he was going to kiss me just then.
He looked at me, amused. "You didn't expect a kiss, did you?"
"Wh...n-no!" I crossed my arms defiantly, but my shifty eyes gave me away.
"You have to work for that," he reminded. "You ready?"
--
I searched around for seashells and lost track of time. When Sho-san called to me, the sun was already halfway down the horizon.
“Did you find one?”
“I think so!” I shouted as I made my way toward him in the sand.
“On the count of three, let’s show each other what we’ve found.”
“Okay.”
“One, two, three!” At his cue, I uncurled my fingers to reveal a conch shell with gradients of purple. It was about an inch long with no sign of chipping. I thought I had done a pretty good job, considering the selection was slim.
“Impressive,” Sho-san nodded. Yet, the left corner of his mouth was curling and seemed to foreshadow the outcome of this match. He reached into his pocket and took out a flat seashell, at least three times bigger than the one I held in my hand.
“Wait, where did you find such a big one?” I searched the ground left and right in disbelief.
“On the same beach you found yours,” he stifled laughter.
I sighed. “Fine, you won fair and square. I owe you an omurice dinner.”
He looked at me playfully, then, without warning, he froze me with his intense gaze. His fingers grazed over his lips, then reached for mine once more. It tickled and sent shivers down my spine. He leaned in and I closed my eyes… but what I expected did not come. When I opened my eyes, his nose was millimeters away from mine.
“What, did you think you were going to get a kiss?” He bit his lower lip.
“…W…What?” My heart raced. I can’t believe I fell for it again.
“It wouldn’t be fair to give the loser her prize.”
I puffed out my cheeks. You little... “Don’t tease me!”
He burst into laughter, wrinkles on his nose and all. Yeah, laugh at my misery, why don’t you. I crossed my arms defiantly.
“Here.”
“Huh?”
He grabbed my hand and placed his seashell there. It hit the one I had found and made a clinking noise.
“You can have that.” Then, smiling like a little kid, he ruffled the hair at the top of my head and turned toward the car. “Let’s get going.”
There you go again. Any trace of defeat left me as I looked at the shells in my hand. That’s all it took. In the end, the outcome of the match didn’t matter all that much. He made me feel like I had won, anyway.
“W-Wait!” Suddenly, I remembered something important.
“Hm?” He turned around, hands in his pockets.
“What about the photos? I completely forgot about them…”
“Don’t worry, I didn’t,” he smiled.
“S-So, wait… you were taking photos this whole time?”
“Yeah.”
“But you said we were going to play a game.”
“Yeah, so you wouldn’t notice the camera.” He grinned, satisfied that his plan had worked. Then, he turned back around and headed for the parking lot. Clearly, there was no winning with him. He was always a step ahead of me, but I no longer minded following behind him.
I only realized how cool it had gotten once we were back inside his car. I carefully placed the seashells into the makeup pouch in my purse, then slid my hands underneath my thighs to warm up my fingers. Seeing this, he exited the car once again, opened the trunk, and pulled out something familiar.
“Use this,” he said as he placed the blanket on my lap. It was the floral blanket I once saw when I first rode in his car. The cashmere was incredibly soft to the touch, and for a moment, I thought my hand would melt away in its welcoming warmth.
“Thanks…”
“Better?” He inserted the key into the ignition.
“Mm-hmm.” I fidgeted my fingers. Should I ask him about this blanket?
“Don’t worry, it’s not mine.” As if he had read my mind, he pointed to the fabric on my lap and chuckled.
“Huh? O-Oh.” I tried playing it cool but failed miserably.
“It belongs to another woman, though.” He scratched his nose, then turned the key to start the car. The engine buzzed to fill the silence.
Did it belong to one of his clients? Or worse, was it an ex-girlfriend’s? My fingers clenched the blanket. I didn’t have the courage to ask him.
He watched me carefully as I digested his words. Then, as if to soothe my fears, he answered my question without me ever having to ask. “It’s my mom’s.”
My head snapped up to look at him. “What?”
“Give me a little more credit. I’m not that inconsiderate.” His lips stuck out ever so slightly as if he were pouting.
My fingers slowly released their tension. How stupid of me to expect the worst. He’s a #1 host, after all, and way too classy to create for himself such an awkward situation.
During the car ride back, he proposed that we stop by the grocery store.
“I don’t have much in my fridge,” he explained.
“Sure, I don’t mind.”
“What goes into making omurice, anyway? Eggs, right?” He freed one of his hands from the wheel and scratched his left temple with his fingers. Perfect looks, impeccable manners, and the flawless heart of a true gentleman. And yet, when it came to things in the kitchen, he was almost clueless. I couldn’t help it. I brought a hand up to my mouth to hide the smile surfacing there. Cooking was the one thing I knew I could do for him.
--
“Could you lock that behind you?”
After stopping by the store for groceries, he parked his car in the garage and carried everything in, including my duffel bag. I followed behind him, carrying only my purse. When I asked him if I could help, he handed me his keys instead. It was a simple bundle, one key holder keeping 4-5 keys together. Just like the minimalistic style of his house, his keys, too, were absent of vibrant colors or unnecessary clutter. When I opened the door, a familiar scent greeted my nose. It smelled faintly of coffee and cologne, but other than that, not many other signs of life. He must only come home to shower and sleep, I thought.
“Fourth and last stop,” he called out to me.
Feeling my heart jump a little, I placed his keys on the shoebox and locked the door as told. By this time, Sho-san had already taken off his shoes and was placing the groceries in the kitchen. I turned his shoes so that the toes faced the door, then joined him.
“I’ll take this into the bedroom.” He picked up my duffel bag from the floor and pointed down the hallway.
“O-Okay,” I replied. It was really happening. The word ‘bedroom’ buzzed in my ears.
I busied myself by emptying the contents of the grocery bags. Per his request, we were going to have ketchup-based omurice today. I thought it would be best to have some side dishes as well, so I also bought some vegetables for minestrone soup, and some things for tofu salad. He said he had some rice left in the rice cooker, I remembered. I opened the lid and sure enough, there was plenty in there, almost as if he had cooked it, then forgotten about it.
“Can I help?” He made his way back into the kitchen, then pulled his sleeves up to his elbows before washing his hands. My eyes took notice of the veins popping out in his forearms and the muscle striations leading into his wrist, the neatly-groomed fingernails and thickness of his palms.
“Kokoro-san?” His hands reached for the towel hanging above the sink.
“Wh-huh?” I stared back, wide-eyed.
He laughed through his nose and with his now dry forefinger, poked my left cheek. “I don’t even need to try to tease you.”
The tiny space where his finger had been contained heat, as if he had burned me there. As I stood there trying to calm my rushing heartbeat, he picked up the tofu package and reached for the knife.
“I-It’s okay! I’ll do it.” I grabbed the tofu from his hand and guarded it in my arms. “I lost, remember?”
He nodded. “I almost forgot.”
“Want a beer while you wait? I can ready an appetizer really quick.”
“That’s not a bad idea,” he said as he opened the fridge and reached for a can of Kirin beer. “Hey.”
“Hm?”
“This is nice.”
“What is?” I tilted my head.
“I can’t remember the last time I ate dinner here.”
Even though the newness of his place had clued me in, it still hurt to hear he hardly spent time in his own house. It made me want to make this space more welcoming and relaxing, to transform it into a place he could truly call home.
“Maybe I should lose more games.”
“Hm?” He closed the refrigerator door and grabbed a glass from one of the cupboards.
“If I lose, then I’ll owe you more cooked meals, right?”
A gentle smile crossed his face as he drew nearer. Then, I felt his soft lips land on mine for a brief moment. As he retracted his head, his lips parted and from that small opening, he let out a small sigh.
“Looks like the loser got what she wanted, too.”
My eyelashes fluttered as I gazed up at his warm eyes. He lingered there for a few seconds before turning to leave the kitchen. The layout of his place was quite suited for entertaining, with the kitchen bar counter overlooking the dining space and living room. The view from where I was standing looked like one a wife may encounter: while she cooked, her husband waited in the other room, busying himself with work or leisurely activities. Before he took a seat at the table, he grabbed his laptop from the TV area. He gave me a brief smile before sitting down and opening his beer.
--
“Dinner’s ready,” I called out as I checked the flavor of the soup. I expected to hear some kind of response from the other room. Instead, I heard the sound of a camera shutter.
“Wha…?” I turned around to find him looking at me through his camera lens. After checking the shot on the monitor, he made his way to the kitchen.
“Smells really good in here.” He leaned his nose toward the stove.
“Did you just take a picture of me?” I pointed shyly at the camera.
He nodded as if it were no big deal. “Yeah.”
Why? The question was just about to roll off my tongue when he noticed the two omurice plates on the counter.
“I didn’t know you were going to do that,” he grinned.
My cheeks burned bright red. He said he wanted omurice. Growing up, the only way my mom made omurice was by writing my name on top of the fluffy egg with ketchup. So, I did the same. Mine read, “Kokoro.” His read, “Sho-san.” And, because I felt like it, I added a tiny heart in front of his name.
“Hm…” He grabbed the ketchup bottle and began adding some more on the plate. His back was turned against me so I couldn’t really tell what he was doing.
“Oh, no!” he said under his breath.
“What?” I rushed to his side. Were the sausages undercooked? Was the egg overcooked?
“Sorry.” It was neither. When I looked down, I saw that the ‘o’s in my name had become smudged and I could barely make out what was written there. I leaned in to get a closer look. Wait, are those…
“Smiley faces…?”
“Let’s eat.” Refusing to answer my question, he took both plates in his hands and walked out of the kitchen. I bit my lip to fight it but as soon as a tiny chuckle escaped my mouth, the battle was lost. I couldn’t stop giggling.
Sho-san.
I just learned another thing about you.
I love this side of you. Do you know that?
He didn’t look my way, but I could tell by his pouty lips that he had heard me.
--
I think it’s safe to say that he enjoyed the victory dinner. He chowed down on the omurice by the spoonful, filling his cheeks as if he were saving up for the winter. Whenever he left some ketchup on his lips, he’d clean it off with his thumb and lick it off. He went for seconds on the minestrone, and left no trace of the tofu salad. Seeing him eat was the biggest compliment I could have received for my cooking.
After the meal, I suggested that he take a bath first while I cleaned up. As I placed the clean dishes on the drying rack, I grinned to myself like an idiot. I’m such a wife right now. In a good mood, I began humming a song. Even a simple household chore like washing the dishes has significant meaning if it’s with the right person, I thought.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone-”
“Aaaahhh!!”
“…have so much fun cleaning,” he finished.
His sudden reappearance surprised me and I nearly dropped a dish. A whiff of his shampoo and I thought I may drop it for real this time.
“You scared me…”
He laughed through his nose and reached for a cup of water. A loose v-neck t-shirt and gray sweatpants. Simple, and yet, the way the fabric accentuated his broad shoulders, strong torso, and masculine curves of his hips… it would take an army to stop me from staring at his delicious body.
“That’s not the look of a frightened person.” His fingers reached for my face as they brushed against my cheek. Like a paintbrush, he left a shade of red there. “Your turn,” he pointed to the bathroom.
I rushed out the kitchen, flustered and wanting to leave the situation. As I made my way down the hallway, I heard him call my name.
“Don’t forget this.” In his hand was the paper bag from the shop we had visited this morning.
“Thanks…” I took it without looking at him.
“You don’t have to wear it if you don’t want to.” He gave me a knowing smile, and with that, returned toward the living room and turned on the TV to watch the news.
I closed the door to the bathroom. You don’t have to wear it if you don’t want to?! You pervert! I stared at my reflection and noticed how red my cheeks had gotten.
“Of course I’m going to wear it,” I said under my breath as I pulled out the contents from the bag. “Did you really think I’d walk out of here naked...”
My train of thought veered off track and my body froze in place. Underneath the loungewear he had bought me was something I had seen before but had no recollection of purchasing. I stared wide-eyed at the flimsy, lace fabric lying limply at the bottom of the bag. With trembling fingers, I scooped it up. I felt the blood leave my face as I realized what I was holding in my hand.
Pairing: Sakurai Sho x Fictional Female (Reader) *see note below
Rating: R for whole series, PG-13 for Ch.12
Genre: Romance, Drama
Word count: 7,225
Plot: A 33-year-old singleton, Nijishima Kokoro, finds herself at a host club where she meets the club's most popular host, Sakurai Sho. The encounter propels Kokoro to explore a different kind of love as Sho helps Kokoro discover herself.
NOTE: This story reads like a shoujo manga--it is written in a fictitious first-person narrative where the reader is the protagonist. Please proceed with caution if you are uncomfortable with JE members having relationships with fictitious female characters (even if that female is you!).
Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11
Chapter Twelve: The Man With The Camera
“Second stop.” He came to a halt at the corner of an intersection. “Hope you like Italian.”
Trattoria Baccanale, the red, neon sign read.
The building itself looked aged. Light brown bricks made up the exterior and the arched entranceway was adorned with an elaborate carving. The doors leading into the restaurant were a rich mahogany hue, and there was a long line of people standing alongside the building waiting to be seated. I could smell roasted tomatoes and garlic sizzling in olive oil. My stomach growled in response to the tantalizing scents.
“Hungry?” he chuckled.
I smiled, embarrassed. “Looks like my stomach gave me away.”
I glanced at the crowd and wondered how long the wait would be. I started making my way to the end of the line, but felt a tug in the other direction. Without minding the others, he led us into the restaurant.
“Welcome to Trattoria Baccanale. Do you have a reservation with us today?” A tall, slender man greeted us.
“Sakurai, for two, at 11:30AM.”
“Mr. Sakurai. It’s our pleasure to have you. Right this way.”
He let go of my hand and gestured me to go first. “After you,” he insisted.
“Thanks…” I gave him a tiny smile before following the slender man to our table.
Even though it was midday outside, the ambience of the restaurant could trick you into thinking it was already evening. The warm, orange lighting set the tone for quiet conversations and gentle expressions. Upon arriving at our table, the man pulled out my seat, bowed, and left to return to his post at the front of the restaurant.
I adjusted myself in the seat. “Wow… this place is so fancy. How did you get reservations?”
He smiled apologetically but didn’t answer my question. “Was it too lavish for lunch?”
“Oh, n-no, that’s not what I meant…” I shook my head. “I’m… just not used to places like this.” Considering the line outside, I knew a lot of effort went into planning this lunch. Although I felt out of place, I didn’t want to sound unthankful.
“Me, neither,” he smiled reassuringly. He fixed his shirt and clasped his hands on the table. The cut of his top was dangerously alluring, his collarbones teasing me as they peeked from underneath the fabric.
“Kokoro-san.”
I must have been staring again. When I met his eyes, he was laughing through his nose. “S-Sorry…”
“The menu isn’t written on my face, you know.” He opened the drink menu and placed it in front of me so I could read it. I couldn’t help but notice his beautifully-shaped fingers and his well-groomed nails.
“Hello, my name is Kuroda and I’ll be your server today.” Another tall, slender man approached our table and gave a bow. “Would you like to start your meal with something to drink?”
“U-Uh…” I skimmed through the menu but nothing really came to mind.
“How about a red?” Sho-san suggested.
“S-Sure.”
He took the drink menu from my hands and took a brief glance at it. “Could you get her a glass of the 2011 Ruffino Riserva Ducale Oro?”
“Of course. And for you, sir?”
“I’ll just stick to water.”
“Very well,” Mr. Kuroda bowed and excused himself.
“Are you not going to drink?”
“I have to drive, don’t I?” he reminded.
“Oh…” I nodded. “That’s true.”
“What would you like to eat?” He stared at the menu positioned beside my silverware and opened it for me.”
I took a browse, but everything looked mouthwatering and I was having a hard time choosing.
“I hear their puttanesca is really good.” It was so very like him to do this. When in doubt, follow his lead. That, I’ve learned.
“I’ll take that, then.” I closed the menu without perusing it much at all. My mind drifted off for a brief moment as I wondered if this is what it’s like to date Sho-san. He never forced me to do or choose anything, and yet, he was so good at leading that I preferred to follow. Then, there was a millisecond of fear: what if I forget how to take care of myself? He was so skilled at it that recently, I haven’t had to.
“I think I’ll go with the spaghetti alle vongole.” His decision snapped me out of my own head. “…You okay?”
Clearly, my thoughts were written all over my face. “Y-Yeah,” I answered quickly.
“Hey, so I was thinking,” he began to speak, but Mr. Kuroda had returned with our drinks.
“Miss, your glass of 2011 Ruffino Riserva Ducale Oro. And sir, here is your water.” He placed the drinks in front of each of us.
“Thank you,” I smiled and gave a quick nod.
“Have you decided on your meal?” Mr. Kuroda clasped his hands in front of his body and waited for our response.
I looked at Sho-san to see if he wanted to order first. He returned eye contact and gave me a tiny smile. “She’ll have the puttanesca, and I’ll take the spaghetti alle vongole.”
I guess I never need to worry about who orders first.
“Very well,” Mr. Kuroda replied, and once more took his leave.
“Have you learned nothing since meeting me?” Sho-san sipped his water and threw me a cryptic question.
“…What do you mean?”
“You were wondering whether I was going to order first, weren’t you?” His eyes were sparkly and looked as though they were reading me like a book.
“You don’t miss a beat, do you…” I nervously bit my lip.
“What kind of host would I be if I didn’t let the lady go first?” He raised his eyebrows playfully.
A shaky laugh escaped my mouth. Of course. What was I thinking? I picked up the wine glass and took an unusually big gulp. He responded with a hearty chuckle.
“You should save some of that for your meal. It’ll pair well with your tomato-based pasta.” He unfolded the napkin on the table and placed it properly on his lap.
--
“This is incredible!” I exclaimed after a bite of my spaghetti. “The anchovies blend well with the tomatoes and the saltiness of the olives…”
“Hm?” He was listening earnestly. “What about the olives?”
I furrowed my eyebrows slightly, a bit apprehensive. “You… aren’t going to make fun of me?”
He finished chewing his bite. “I’ve never made fun of you for this,” he corrected.
“If by ‘never’ you mean ‘always,’ then yes, I agree with you,” I challenged.
“You just don’t like receiving compliments.”
“That’s not the probl…” The end of my sentence faded away. In truth, I knew that was the problem. My problem. He knew that, too. But, instead of giving a lecture on how I needed to change, he shifted the direction of the conversation slightly so that the spotlight went elsewhere. Instantly, I felt like I didn’t have to justify or explain myself. The tension in my shoulders loosened its grip.
“Besides, have I ever been that predictable?”
I pouted as I shook my head.
“So? What about those olives?” he encouraged me to continue.
“…Um, well, the saltiness of the olives adds depth to the simple flavors.”
“Can I try?” He held out his fork toward my plate.
“Ah, of course.” I slid my dish closer to him.
I watched his fingers as they skillfully twirled the fork, his well-groomed fingertips moving elegantly. He caught me staring and gave me a stifled smirk. He filled his cheeks with the spaghetti and his lips glistened from the olive oil.
“Mmm, you’re right. The olives accentuate the different flavors.” He wiped the corner of his mouth with his thumb.
Although his usual demeanor was nothing short of chivalrous perfection, it was only when he ate that I saw chinks in his armor. In these moments, I could see a carefree child stuffing his cheeks, finding joy in simple things without a care in the world. Glimpses of such innocence made him even more endearing. I vowed to myself that I would do whatever it takes to protect this side of him.
“Kokoro-san?”
“Y-Yes?!” I realized that I did this a lot whenever I was around him. Collecting my wandering thoughts, I blinked rapidly to refocus.
He let out a soft chuckle, then proceeded to pick up his plate and place it closer to me. “Want to try mine, too?”
“Oh, sure!” I twirled my fork and took a bite. My expression gave me away.
“Good, huh?”
“This may be the best spaghetti alle vongole I’ve ever had.” I brought my hand to my mouth as I chewed, enraptured by the dish.
“Clams are my favorite seafood,” he said as he picked up his dish again and placed it back in front of him.
“Oh, I didn’t know that.” Another tidbit to store away into my collection. Duly noted, Sho-san.
He took a sip of his water to clear his palate. “So, I was thinking…”
With those words, I suddenly remembered that he was about to say something before Mr. Kuroda had returned with our drinks. “Yes?”
“After lunch, I want to take you for a drive.”
I smiled back sincerely. “That sounds really nice.”
“Good,” he nodded. “And then after the drive, I was hoping you could come over to my house and cook dinner.”
I dropped my fork onto my plate and the clanking noise echoed throughout the restaurant. I bit my lips in embarrassment.
But, he had more to say. Amused at my reaction, he licked his lips and cleared his throat. “And after dinner, I was hoping you’d stay over for the night.”
I wasn’t even sure if I was breathing by this point. My hands moved inefficiently and meaninglessly, grabbing the napkin on my lap and wiping the top of the table even though there was nothing to clean.
“I promise your coffee will taste better this time.” He took another bite of his pasta and scanned my expression. “I bought you some sugar cubes and creamer, remember?”
To hear that those purchases were actually for me, to understand that he had gone through such trouble because he remembered how I liked my coffee, to infer that tonight could lead to such things… I took a sip of my wine in hopes of blaming my rosy cheeks on the alcohol.
“Excuse me for interrupting your meal. I’m Ban, the Executive Chef.”
A tall man stood beside our table with his hands behind his back. His long bangs were swept to the side, slightly messy, perhaps from hiding underneath a chef’s hat for some time. Prominent eyebrows rested above his sincere eyes, his eyelashes resembling angel wings as they fluttered with each blink. There were moles on and near his lips, adding a kind of allure to his otherwise proper look. What’s more, there was something eerily familiar about him.
“Hi, Chef,” Sho-san nodded politely. “Everything is delicious.”
Chef Ban bowed humbly. “It’s my pleasure to hear that.” Then, he turned to me and smiled a beautiful smile. “And you, Miss? Has everything been to your liking?”
I couldn’t stop staring. He began chuckling and asked me if there was something on his face. When he brought his left hand to his nose, I noticed the freckle on his middle finger. Sometimes, it’s not the obvious signs that bring back memories.
“B…Ban-chan?!” My eyes widened with surprise and satisfaction.
I knew it! I knew we had met before.
“…Excuse me, have we met?” Chef Ban tilted his head and inquired politely.
“It’s me, Nijishima! We sat next to each other in middle school.”
I could see his expression change from confusion to realization. “Is that really you? Is it Nijishima Kokoro-chan?”
“Yeah, it’s me!” I gave him a big smile.
“I’ll be darned,” he shook his head. “Thanks for coming in.”
“Oh, that’s all thanks to Sho-san.” I motioned my hand to the man sitting in front of me. He seemed amused by our conversation.
“Well, thank you for choosing Trattoria Baccanale,” Ban-chan bowed.
“Middle school classmates, huh?” Sho-san looked at me, then at Ban-chan. “What a reunion.”
“Isn’t it?” I said, amazed. “I had no idea you became a chef!”
“I went abroad for several years to learn the art of Italian cuisine.”
“You’ve always been a driven guy,” I crossed my arms in awe at his accomplishment.
“What about you? You look really happy.” Ban-chan glanced over at Sho-san, who was finishing his pasta.
“I am.” I made it a point to look at Sho-san as I uttered those words. His gaze met mine and I could feel my cheeks start burning.
“Looks like I’ve interrupted you two love birds for long enough,” Ban-chan chuckled.
“That’s all right,” Sho-san assured. “You’re an exceptional cook, by the way.”
“Thank you, sir,” Ban-chan kindly bowed his head. “It delights me to hear that.”
“Yeah, the puttanesca had such a depth of flavors. I’m thinking the key to the dish are the olives. Am I right? And the spaghetti alle vongole is just to die for. Probably the best I’ve ever had. And to think you made all this!”
Ban-chan laughed and looked at Sho-san. “She hasn’t changed a bit.”
Sho-san smiled back at him. “I’m glad.”
There he goes again. It’s these little things, the seemingly insignificant dialogue that tells me he sincerely cares. Even though he laughs at me and makes fun of my quirks, he can admit to a stranger that he finds them endearing. I felt ticklish all over as the warm and fuzzy feelings kicked in.
Ban-chan took a moment to look at me. “…But her taste in clothes did. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you look this girly, Nijishima.” He pushed his lips together and seemed deep in thought.
“Oh, this…” I touched the hem of my dress. “Just… thought I’d try something different.”
“I hope you didn’t take it to heart when we picked on you about being boyish.” Ban-chan scratched his temple with his fingers and looked full of regret.
I smiled to reassure him. “Don’t look so concerned, Ban-chan. I’ve always known that the boys in class didn’t see me as a romantic interest.”
“It’s not that,” he clarified. “It’s because we were all so comfortable around you.”
“I know, I’m used to it.”
“Back then, I thought there needed to be friction, as if attraction were measured by the amount of tension between two people. But that’s not true. Now that I’m over 30, I long to be with someone with whom I can be comfortable.” Ban-chan smiled nostalgically.
I had to let those words settle for a moment. It felt as though those years of struggling to love myself were not all in vain. Though delivered decades later, his words helped heal those bruises.
Sho-san cleared his throat to interrupt the conversation. “A lot of men realize that too late, don’t they?” He looked up at Ban-chan. Sho-san’s eyes seemed to see right through his thoughts.
Ban-chan’s eyelashes fluttered as his expression clouded for a split second. But before I could make out what that could mean, he flashed a big smile. “She’s a keeper.”
Sho-san didn’t say anything, but I could feel his eyes on me. His gaze felt so hot that I seriously believed they could bore a hole through me.
“I should head back into the kitchen,” Ban-chan wrapped up the conversation. “But it was really good seeing you again, Nijishima. Take good care of her, Sho-san. And do visit Trattoria Baccanale again.” He gave one last bow, then left our table.
I waved as he left smiling. When I looked over at Sho-san, he was already looking at me. Like magnets, he drew my eyes in to his.
“You do know that ‘comfortable’ is a compliment, right?”
“…Hm?” I felt exposed again. With him, it was only a matter of time before he read my mind.
“It’s also not the opposite of ‘attraction’, either.”
I managed a nod to acknowledge his statement, but my gaze had fallen to the empty dishes on the table.
“And to prove it,” he continued, “Consider my clientele. No good woman frequents a host club.”
I looked up at him again. His shiny, brown eyes brimmed with sincerity.
“Comfort means home.”
Do I feel like home to you?
I was much too embarrassed to ask, but his smile seemed to answer my question.
--
The line of people waiting for their seat at Trattoria Baccanale had grown even longer by the time we left. It was a leisurely lunch, and my watch read 1:00PM. He had paid for our meal while I was in the bathroom fixing my makeup, and refused to have me pay him back. As he led the way, I noticed his broad shoulders walking ahead of me. Sometimes, I truly felt like he was too good to be true.
Once we were back in his car, he paid for parking and we were on our way. I placed my hands on my knees and peeked over at the driver’s seat. His left hand was resting on the armrest. I could hold it if I wanted to, and I wanted to. But my fingers fidgeted uncourageously. So, instead, I looked out the passenger seat window at the passing scenery.
“Be my guest.” I faced him again and saw that he had turned over his hand so that his palm was facing up now, his fingers slightly spread apart as if to invite mine to intertwine. When I didn’t respond right away, he wiggled them playfully. “Isn’t this what you wanted to do?”
It was almost scary how he always knew what I wanted. Slowly, I met my hand with his. As our fingers weaved together, he gave a little squeeze and my toes curled with delight.
--
“…ro-san?”
“Nnngh…”
“Kokoro-san?”
I opened my eyes and realized the car had come to a stop. Oh, no! “I’m so sorry! I can’t believe I fell asleep…” I sighed in disapproval.
But, he seemed not to mind. “I’ll take that as a compliment toward my driving. Third stop, we’re here.”
But the point of going on a drive is to enjoy the conversations and physical closeness! I couldn’t believe my rudeness. “I wanted to spend that time with you,” I said regrettably.
“You did,” he smiled. “But it was pretty tough trying not to move my hand. I didn’t want to wake you.”
I looked down and noticed that his arm hadn’t moved at all, and that we were still holding hands. Suddenly, my palms started feeling sweaty. I retracted mine quickly and apologized.
“Let’s go. I want to show you something.” He opened his door and stepped outside.
Following suit, I exited the car and stretched, arms reaching upward toward the sky. One inhale gave me enough of a hint as to where we were.
“This is my favorite place to visit when I have a bad day and want to clear my head,” he said as he opened the trunk of his car.
The ocean wind swept through my hair and the smell of salt water hit my face. The early afternoon sun reflected brightly on the water and undulated with the rhythm of the waves. As I looked out into the distance, I heard him close the trunk. When I looked his way, I heard a click and it took a moment before I could register what was happening.
“I’d like to propose something.” He stood tall and faced me.
“…Yes?” The sun was in my eyes and I couldn’t keep them open.
“Let’s take some pictures here.” He raised the digital SLR up with his hand, then put the strap over his neck.
“Okay,” I replied. He doesn’t need to ask me, I thought.
“I want you to be my model.”
My eyes grew wide as I stared at him, but it wasn’t long before my eyes started hurting from the brightness. “Wh…n-no, no…” I shook my head vigorously.
“Why not?” There was a curiosity in his eyes.
“B…ecause I’m no model.”
“You are now.” Click. He took another photo of me and checked the data on the screen.
“Stop it…” I moved toward him and tried to grab the camera in his hand. Instead, he ended up grabbing me with his free hand and drew me in closer. Instantly, the ball was in his court.
“There’s a photo contest this winter,” he said as he gazed down at me. “I was thinking about entering.”
“…There’s a what?”
“A photo contest,” he repeated. “The theme this year is ‘Happiness.’”
Happiness. That word buzzed in my ears. I hadn’t forgotten what he had told me that night when he asked me to be his girlfriend. I wanted so much for him to trust in himself, too, to believe with his heart that he was capable of making others happy.
“Why me?” I asked.
He caught the stray strands of hair in my face and tucked them neatly behind my ear. His beautiful eyes looked at me endearingly.
“Because you actually make me believe in such a thing.”
Just like that. He could pull sweet nothings out of thin air. My heart thumped and my feelings for him grew. How could I say ‘no’ to him after that?
“If I win the grand prize…” He looked out into the ocean, though it didn’t seem like he was particularly taking in the scenery. There was a focus in his gaze and he didn’t blink for a while.
“…Yes?” I asked gently.
“…I’m going to quit my job at Akatsuki.”
I thought my heart had stopped beating. Standing in front of me was a Sho-san I didn't really know. I fell into a state of shock.
"It's been my childhood dream." He picked up the camera hanging around his neck with his hand and glanced over at me. "To be a photographer."
He turned his head back toward the ocean. I could hear the crashing of the waves like white noise in my ears. Somewhere in the back of my head, I could vaguely recall the conversation I had with Maki about his photography, but my mind couldn't process it at the moment.
"When I saw you that night by the water, I told you I took photos as a hobby. Which is true. I don't make a living off my photography."
I remained silent. His every word was weighty and focused.
"But I enjoy photography more than I do entertaining women for money." He paused for a moment. "I feel free when I see the world through these lenses."
Those beautiful eyes glimmered hopefully as the words left his mouth. He clenched his jaw just for a moment as I watched his Adam's apple move up and down. In that moment, I saw a mixture of determination and uncertainty, confidence and doubt.
"This is a big deal." My voice was raspy.
"Could be."
It was clear to me that his decision had not been made on a whim; he must have had this conversation with himself for years.
"Well, I don’t trust my modeling abilities, but I trust you."
He finally turned around and faced me. As if my words had fueled his strength, his clouded expression seemed to brighten up a little. There was even a smile forming at the corners of his mouth. He inched closer toward me and leaned in to plant a soft kiss on my forehead. My bangs got in the way and tickled my skin.
"Let's start over there," he pointed toward the beach.
I followed him down the parking lot until we came to a short stairway leading down to the shore. It would be too hard to walk in the sand with heels on, I thought. Just as I was about to take them off, my heel got caught in the crevice of the concrete stairs and I heard a loud snap. I had just enough time to realize what had happened before I felt my center of balance tip forward.
"...!"
Expecting sand in my face, I was thoroughly surprised to land on something a lot sturdier and upright. I felt an arm wrap around my waist and keep me from falling, and my nose got a whiff of his sweet cologne. When I grabbed his shirt, I pulled it down with me. My eyes were now staring at exposed collarbones.
"Are you okay?" he said immediately.
I nodded, but I knew my heels weren't. I looked down at my shoes in the sand. One leg was clearly shorter than the other. I could have gotten upset at myself for being clumsy and ruining a brand new pair of shoes. In fact, that would have been my first inclination. When it dawned on me that I wasn't beating myself over it, I realized how much he had changed me.
"I wasn't going to need them in the sand, anyway!" I giggled at myself and picked up my heels, one dangling and useless. Then, I ran off toward the shore where the sand was damp from the receding waves.
My toes felt the cool water and I let out a small sound of surprise. It wasn't as cold as I thought it'd be, though, and I felt brave enough to walk into the waves. My calves were now wet, too.
"Come on, it's really n..."
I turned to invite him over, but he was watching me through his camera lens. How long had he been taking photos of me? I started feeling a little self-conscious and my movements and expression became rigid and contrived.
He started walking over to where I was standing, then stopped just behind the line where the sand turned a darker hue. "Don't think about the camera. Pretend it's just you and me."
It was clear he had noticed my unnatural expressions and movements, and was trying to reassure me. But that was easier said than done. I'm no professional model, let’s remember that.
"That's a tough order..." I replied nervously.
He smiled and took off his shoes. Then, he neatly rolled his socks into them and combed back his hair. It was the first time I noticed his feet. His toenails were also neatly groomed, toes nicely shaped, with a little tuft of hair growing on his big toes. Sometimes, you find masculinity in the strangest of places, and this was one of them.
"All right. Want to play a game instead?" He walked over and left footprints in the wet sand.
I tilted my head curiously. "A game?"
"Mm-hmm. Let's see who can find the biggest seashell."
My eyes glimmered with excitement. I was pretty good at this sort of thing. "That sounds fun!"
"Let's come up with incentives. If you win, what would you like?"
"Oh..." I put my forefinger to my lips to think.
"A kiss?" Sho-san teased.
Only then did I realize how he could have misinterpreted my gesture. "N-No, no!" I shook my head side to side and quickly retracted my hand.
"You don’t want one?" His deep voice drew closer and I could feel his eyes on my lips.
"Th...at's not what I said..." I gulped.
"Then, a kiss it is," he said, satisfied. "And if I win..."
He traced my lips with his middle finger and observed my reaction. An audible exhale left my mouth and I felt my cheeks burning. He seemed to enjoy what he saw, because there was a smirk on his face.
"I want you to make omurice for me tonight." He slowly retracted his fingers from my lips.
Wait.
What just happened?
I felt like he had me dancing on the palm of his hand. My lips were tingling from his touch and I was embarrassed for even thinking that maybe he was going to kiss me just then.
He looked at me, amused. "You didn't expect a kiss, did you?"
"Wh...n-no!" I crossed my arms defiantly, but my shifty eyes gave me away.
"You have to work for that," he reminded. "You ready?"
--
I searched around for seashells and lost track of time. When Sho-san called to me, the sun was already halfway down the horizon.
“Did you find one?”
“I think so!” I shouted as I made my way toward him in the sand.
“On the count of three, let’s show each other what we’ve found.”
“Okay.”
“One, two, three!” At his cue, I uncurled my fingers to reveal a conch shell with gradients of purple. It was about an inch long with no sign of chipping. I thought I had done a pretty good job, considering the selection was slim.
“Impressive,” Sho-san nodded. Yet, the left corner of his mouth was curling and seemed to foreshadow the outcome of this match. He reached into his pocket and took out a flat seashell, at least three times bigger than the one I held in my hand.
“Wait, where did you find such a big one?” I searched the ground left and right in disbelief.
“On the same beach you found yours,” he stifled laughter.
I sighed. “Fine, you won fair and square. I owe you an omurice dinner.”
He looked at me playfully, then, without warning, he froze me with his intense gaze. His fingers grazed over his lips, then reached for mine once more. It tickled and sent shivers down my spine. He leaned in and I closed my eyes… but what I expected did not come. When I opened my eyes, his nose was millimeters away from mine.
“What, did you think you were going to get a kiss?” He bit his lower lip.
“…W…What?” My heart raced. I can’t believe I fell for it again.
“It wouldn’t be fair to give the loser her prize.”
I puffed out my cheeks. You little... “Don’t tease me!”
He burst into laughter, wrinkles on his nose and all. Yeah, laugh at my misery, why don’t you. I crossed my arms defiantly.
“Here.”
“Huh?”
He grabbed my hand and placed his seashell there. It hit the one I had found and made a clinking noise.
“You can have that.” Then, smiling like a little kid, he ruffled the hair at the top of my head and turned toward the car. “Let’s get going.”
There you go again. Any trace of defeat left me as I looked at the shells in my hand. That’s all it took. In the end, the outcome of the match didn’t matter all that much. He made me feel like I had won, anyway.
“W-Wait!” Suddenly, I remembered something important.
“Hm?” He turned around, hands in his pockets.
“What about the photos? I completely forgot about them…”
“Don’t worry, I didn’t,” he smiled.
“S-So, wait… you were taking photos this whole time?”
“Yeah.”
“But you said we were going to play a game.”
“Yeah, so you wouldn’t notice the camera.” He grinned, satisfied that his plan had worked. Then, he turned back around and headed for the parking lot. Clearly, there was no winning with him. He was always a step ahead of me, but I no longer minded following behind him.
I only realized how cool it had gotten once we were back inside his car. I carefully placed the seashells into the makeup pouch in my purse, then slid my hands underneath my thighs to warm up my fingers. Seeing this, he exited the car once again, opened the trunk, and pulled out something familiar.
“Use this,” he said as he placed the blanket on my lap. It was the floral blanket I once saw when I first rode in his car. The cashmere was incredibly soft to the touch, and for a moment, I thought my hand would melt away in its welcoming warmth.
“Thanks…”
“Better?” He inserted the key into the ignition.
“Mm-hmm.” I fidgeted my fingers. Should I ask him about this blanket?
“Don’t worry, it’s not mine.” As if he had read my mind, he pointed to the fabric on my lap and chuckled.
“Huh? O-Oh.” I tried playing it cool but failed miserably.
“It belongs to another woman, though.” He scratched his nose, then turned the key to start the car. The engine buzzed to fill the silence.
Did it belong to one of his clients? Or worse, was it an ex-girlfriend’s? My fingers clenched the blanket. I didn’t have the courage to ask him.
He watched me carefully as I digested his words. Then, as if to soothe my fears, he answered my question without me ever having to ask. “It’s my mom’s.”
My head snapped up to look at him. “What?”
“Give me a little more credit. I’m not that inconsiderate.” His lips stuck out ever so slightly as if he were pouting.
My fingers slowly released their tension. How stupid of me to expect the worst. He’s a #1 host, after all, and way too classy to create for himself such an awkward situation.
During the car ride back, he proposed that we stop by the grocery store.
“I don’t have much in my fridge,” he explained.
“Sure, I don’t mind.”
“What goes into making omurice, anyway? Eggs, right?” He freed one of his hands from the wheel and scratched his left temple with his fingers. Perfect looks, impeccable manners, and the flawless heart of a true gentleman. And yet, when it came to things in the kitchen, he was almost clueless. I couldn’t help it. I brought a hand up to my mouth to hide the smile surfacing there. Cooking was the one thing I knew I could do for him.
--
“Could you lock that behind you?”
After stopping by the store for groceries, he parked his car in the garage and carried everything in, including my duffel bag. I followed behind him, carrying only my purse. When I asked him if I could help, he handed me his keys instead. It was a simple bundle, one key holder keeping 4-5 keys together. Just like the minimalistic style of his house, his keys, too, were absent of vibrant colors or unnecessary clutter. When I opened the door, a familiar scent greeted my nose. It smelled faintly of coffee and cologne, but other than that, not many other signs of life. He must only come home to shower and sleep, I thought.
“Fourth and last stop,” he called out to me.
Feeling my heart jump a little, I placed his keys on the shoebox and locked the door as told. By this time, Sho-san had already taken off his shoes and was placing the groceries in the kitchen. I turned his shoes so that the toes faced the door, then joined him.
“I’ll take this into the bedroom.” He picked up my duffel bag from the floor and pointed down the hallway.
“O-Okay,” I replied. It was really happening. The word ‘bedroom’ buzzed in my ears.
I busied myself by emptying the contents of the grocery bags. Per his request, we were going to have ketchup-based omurice today. I thought it would be best to have some side dishes as well, so I also bought some vegetables for minestrone soup, and some things for tofu salad. He said he had some rice left in the rice cooker, I remembered. I opened the lid and sure enough, there was plenty in there, almost as if he had cooked it, then forgotten about it.
“Can I help?” He made his way back into the kitchen, then pulled his sleeves up to his elbows before washing his hands. My eyes took notice of the veins popping out in his forearms and the muscle striations leading into his wrist, the neatly-groomed fingernails and thickness of his palms.
“Kokoro-san?” His hands reached for the towel hanging above the sink.
“Wh-huh?” I stared back, wide-eyed.
He laughed through his nose and with his now dry forefinger, poked my left cheek. “I don’t even need to try to tease you.”
The tiny space where his finger had been contained heat, as if he had burned me there. As I stood there trying to calm my rushing heartbeat, he picked up the tofu package and reached for the knife.
“I-It’s okay! I’ll do it.” I grabbed the tofu from his hand and guarded it in my arms. “I lost, remember?”
He nodded. “I almost forgot.”
“Want a beer while you wait? I can ready an appetizer really quick.”
“That’s not a bad idea,” he said as he opened the fridge and reached for a can of Kirin beer. “Hey.”
“Hm?”
“This is nice.”
“What is?” I tilted my head.
“I can’t remember the last time I ate dinner here.”
Even though the newness of his place had clued me in, it still hurt to hear he hardly spent time in his own house. It made me want to make this space more welcoming and relaxing, to transform it into a place he could truly call home.
“Maybe I should lose more games.”
“Hm?” He closed the refrigerator door and grabbed a glass from one of the cupboards.
“If I lose, then I’ll owe you more cooked meals, right?”
A gentle smile crossed his face as he drew nearer. Then, I felt his soft lips land on mine for a brief moment. As he retracted his head, his lips parted and from that small opening, he let out a small sigh.
“Looks like the loser got what she wanted, too.”
My eyelashes fluttered as I gazed up at his warm eyes. He lingered there for a few seconds before turning to leave the kitchen. The layout of his place was quite suited for entertaining, with the kitchen bar counter overlooking the dining space and living room. The view from where I was standing looked like one a wife may encounter: while she cooked, her husband waited in the other room, busying himself with work or leisurely activities. Before he took a seat at the table, he grabbed his laptop from the TV area. He gave me a brief smile before sitting down and opening his beer.
--
“Dinner’s ready,” I called out as I checked the flavor of the soup. I expected to hear some kind of response from the other room. Instead, I heard the sound of a camera shutter.
“Wha…?” I turned around to find him looking at me through his camera lens. After checking the shot on the monitor, he made his way to the kitchen.
“Smells really good in here.” He leaned his nose toward the stove.
“Did you just take a picture of me?” I pointed shyly at the camera.
He nodded as if it were no big deal. “Yeah.”
Why? The question was just about to roll off my tongue when he noticed the two omurice plates on the counter.
“I didn’t know you were going to do that,” he grinned.
My cheeks burned bright red. He said he wanted omurice. Growing up, the only way my mom made omurice was by writing my name on top of the fluffy egg with ketchup. So, I did the same. Mine read, “Kokoro.” His read, “Sho-san.” And, because I felt like it, I added a tiny heart in front of his name.
“Hm…” He grabbed the ketchup bottle and began adding some more on the plate. His back was turned against me so I couldn’t really tell what he was doing.
“Oh, no!” he said under his breath.
“What?” I rushed to his side. Were the sausages undercooked? Was the egg overcooked?
“Sorry.” It was neither. When I looked down, I saw that the ‘o’s in my name had become smudged and I could barely make out what was written there. I leaned in to get a closer look. Wait, are those…
“Smiley faces…?”
“Let’s eat.” Refusing to answer my question, he took both plates in his hands and walked out of the kitchen. I bit my lip to fight it but as soon as a tiny chuckle escaped my mouth, the battle was lost. I couldn’t stop giggling.
Sho-san.
I just learned another thing about you.
I love this side of you. Do you know that?
He didn’t look my way, but I could tell by his pouty lips that he had heard me.
--
I think it’s safe to say that he enjoyed the victory dinner. He chowed down on the omurice by the spoonful, filling his cheeks as if he were saving up for the winter. Whenever he left some ketchup on his lips, he’d clean it off with his thumb and lick it off. He went for seconds on the minestrone, and left no trace of the tofu salad. Seeing him eat was the biggest compliment I could have received for my cooking.
After the meal, I suggested that he take a bath first while I cleaned up. As I placed the clean dishes on the drying rack, I grinned to myself like an idiot. I’m such a wife right now. In a good mood, I began humming a song. Even a simple household chore like washing the dishes has significant meaning if it’s with the right person, I thought.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone-”
“Aaaahhh!!”
“…have so much fun cleaning,” he finished.
His sudden reappearance surprised me and I nearly dropped a dish. A whiff of his shampoo and I thought I may drop it for real this time.
“You scared me…”
He laughed through his nose and reached for a cup of water. A loose v-neck t-shirt and gray sweatpants. Simple, and yet, the way the fabric accentuated his broad shoulders, strong torso, and masculine curves of his hips… it would take an army to stop me from staring at his delicious body.
“That’s not the look of a frightened person.” His fingers reached for my face as they brushed against my cheek. Like a paintbrush, he left a shade of red there. “Your turn,” he pointed to the bathroom.
I rushed out the kitchen, flustered and wanting to leave the situation. As I made my way down the hallway, I heard him call my name.
“Don’t forget this.” In his hand was the paper bag from the shop we had visited this morning.
“Thanks…” I took it without looking at him.
“You don’t have to wear it if you don’t want to.” He gave me a knowing smile, and with that, returned toward the living room and turned on the TV to watch the news.
I closed the door to the bathroom. You don’t have to wear it if you don’t want to?! You pervert! I stared at my reflection and noticed how red my cheeks had gotten.
“Of course I’m going to wear it,” I said under my breath as I pulled out the contents from the bag. “Did you really think I’d walk out of here naked...”
My train of thought veered off track and my body froze in place. Underneath the loungewear he had bought me was something I had seen before but had no recollection of purchasing. I stared wide-eyed at the flimsy, lace fabric lying limply at the bottom of the bag. With trembling fingers, I scooped it up. I felt the blood leave my face as I realized what I was holding in my hand.