The Prince and the Plant Whisperer

Even Tho Yeah It's A Date

He draws nearer, bending down.

With his scent of vetiver, and bergamot and cedar too. Her thoughts are more and more frantic, but suddenly a lone image surfaces above it all, calming her anxious mental noise. She pictures a greenhouse, with all the plants and bark and flowers that made the smells of Lukas's soap and aftershave.

He's moving closer.

As she lets her eyes fall closed, her stomach feels like it's scrambling to find some fire exit out of her body.

And then.

The light pressure—of his lips kissing hers—it's soft first, almost unsure.

But—I thought we'd gotten it out of the way! Her brain starts protesting.

Then, his mouth moves slightly harder against hers, and he re-steadies his grip on her shoulders. With her eyes closed, she can feel his warm, reassuring hands move around her waist and bring her closer. In the cold air, heat swirls between their exhalations. His breaths are deep, but getting shorter and faster. And now his lips are more eager against hers. She's frozen. But somehow her body's moving in response to him, too.

He meant it, about the kiss—he'd warned me. Her brain thinks, scrabbling uphill again.

Then his mouth opens hers—his tongue moves in a bit even. And then once more, again: an insistent second attempt that finds its center as a deep, urgent kiss. She's feeling lightheaded.

As he groans with an intensity that startles her, he presses against her even more. At that moment, he accidentally jams the back of her head against the tower-viewer. Her head hits the cold metal. It tilts back with a loud rusty creak.

"Sorry! Sorry," He pulls back, almost dazed. They're left looking into each other's faces.

He's trying to make sure—all that was ok, with me, she thinks.

Then he breaks the silence, saying, "Actually maybe we should leave. It can get a bit dangerous up here at night. Even though I'd keep you safe from—"

He pauses. Inside, he feels a bit guilty: This city gets a bit lawless at night. Yesterday night, he'd sort of imagined and directed a little movie in his head. He's walking with her at night. From the shadows, someone emerges. Flicks a knife open. And then—Lukas disarms the guy. Socks him cold in the face. Punches him on the jaw. The knife flies across the street.

He imagines Kai sees it all. She sees how serious he is about keeping her safe.

It's a stupid, backward fantasy. He feels pretty sure Kai can defend herself. Maybe she could defend him too. Still, yesterday as he fell asleep, a very secret part of him still played this little movie trailer in his head—maybe even two or three times. He pictured her look of amazement as she watched him.

Not that he'll ever tell anyone about this. Definitely not her. He quickly stuffs the fantasy back into his subconscious.

Vapor curls from his breath—it's that chilly.

"Let's get back to the car. Will you go with me somewhere else?" he asks her.

"Where?"

"Somewhere warm," he says. "Indoors."

"Indoors sounds good," she says. "Maybe it'll thaw out my brain. Which feels frozen—but that might just be from shock."

"I'm aiming for shock," he laughs. "Otherwise I have no chance with you."

Like they're hypnotized, they get back on his bike. As they as they coast back down the hill, the bike's back break starts letting out a piercing squeak. He'd forgotten to oil it. His oversight—it makes him wince inwardly. He wants tonight to be flawless. But now? Even as they float downhill, there's the sound of a dying mouse, ruining it all.