As the minutes rolled by and an hour became two, Talia and Zaid showed no signs of beating the temptation to linger. They'd started by ordering a few extra bowls for the table, at one point deciding their stomachs were full. Then, the same entrée had caught their attention, and two plates had turned into coffee and dessert.
The small cups of Turkish coffee acted more like alcohol, steering the conversation in a less PG direction. They playfully eyed each other as they brought their lips to the rim of their cups, some hint of a smile playing on both.
"Do you regret your first kiss?" he asked after taking a small sip. Noticing her wide eyes, he added through a smile, "You can pass on this one if I'm overstepping."
She chuckled, not having thought of that moment in years. "Truth be told, no, because it was so rushed and so sloppy and at such a cliché event—prom of all things—that it made every kiss after it seem glorious. Maybe if it had been good, I'd have said yes."
"That's...a unique answer." He looked down at the single piece of baklava left on the shared plate and pushed it towards her. Talia held up both hands, as the mere thought of putting another bite of food inside her mouth, let alone dessert, threatened to send her dinner back up her throat. "Alright, this piece is mine, then."
She watched him eat it carefully and savor every walnut-filled layer. His tongue darted out to catch the small flake stuck to his lower lip, moving even more languidly with the eyes that trailed up her face. She gripped the edge of her seat under the table, willing herself not to be so affected by his subtle moves, but perhaps they were an invitation of sort.
"I have a question," she said, announcing it for the first time. He put down the remaining bite of baklava, as if it wouldn't have fit in his mouth with the one previous. When his eyes met hers again, she somehow had the courage to ask. "Are you...a virgin?"
A small puff of air escaped his nose first, following by a half-snort-half-laugh. He tempered himself with another sip of hot coffee before setting down the cup with a plink.
"Do I appear prudish?"
"No," Talia said, "but the two aren't mutually exclusive."
"Is this you admitting to something?"
She shook her head. "No, once again. But by this point, I'm just gonna assume you are."
"No," he breathed. He repeated it, with more conviction this time. "But even if I was, I still would've told you the truth."
"A man of morals," she joked, earning herself a pointed glare. She let them enjoy the silence for a few moments before speaking up again. "Well...are you going to turn the tables and ask already?"
He smiled and popped in the last lonely piece of baklava. "Your sex life is none of my business, Talia," he said and paused before finishing, "unless, of course, I was a part of it."
She blinked and took in his reply, so calculated yet offhand at the same time. The sight of her blushing cheeks only enlarged the smirk on his lips, visible even in the dim lighting of the restaurant.
She took the last sip of coffee, fanning her hands around the cup to conceal her tomato-red face. "I don't know. I'd hate to get attached and then... And then remember we only have two weeks left of this."
"Less actually," he corrected, hitting where it hurt. "But a lot can happen in eleven days, Talia."
"You've been counting?"
"No. Salma just guilts me with the fleeting nature of your trip every time I'm rude to you."
"God, I always knew Teta was a real one." She also knew there was some sort of scheme brewing on her grandmother's end, as she'd ushered them out the house earlier without specifying a time by which they had to be home. Not that they weren't old enough to get by without a curfew, but Talia was still reasonably suspicious. "Do you think it's time for us to go back home?"
"I don't think there's anything left for us to eat in this restaurant, anyway."
She didn't even want to imagine the bill, eyeing her wallet sitting in her lap. Deep down, she knew he'd rather pay double than accept a cent from her, but she still held on to the last of her American hopes and eyed their server in the distance. He returned a few moments later to collect their plates and cups, and Zaid asked for the check.
"I think we should split—"
"No."
She blinked. "That wasn't even a yes or no question, Zaid."
"It's not a question in the first place," he said, pulling a wallet out from the pocket of his gray jeans. "I'm the one who invited you out to eat, didn't I?"
"And I'm the one who ate over half the food, didn't I?"
"Sahtein," he said, sounding like her mother. He opened the check and calculated a nice tip for the overworked server, earning a nod of approval from her.
A few minutes later, they traded the thinning restaurant for the deep chill of the night, the icy air whipping against their exposed faces and hands. Weather like this warranted a blanket of wool for a poor, misplaced Californian like Talia. Zaid watched the clouds of breath escaping her mouth with each shaky exhale, trying to hold back a laugh at her struggle to walk the ten feet to his car.
"A hat would solve half of your problems in life, Talia," he said, once again sounding like her mother.
While waiting for a few cars to cross, his arms snaked across her front, transferring his wool scarf from his neck to her own. She tilted her head back and whispered a thank you, but he simply shook his head and gave her a gentle shove to keep walking.
"Oh, thank God," she breathed, slamming the passenger door shut. The car had cooled down during the two-and-a-half hours it had missed them, but the inside still felt toasty compared to the sixth ice age outside. "I'm way too weak for this place."
Zaid turned on the engine and blasted the heat. After a few moments, she felt her butt grow unnaturally warm, until she noticed he had also turned the dial for the seat heater to the max for her, a feature she found somewhat useless back home.
"Better?" he asked, rolling the car to a stop at the traffic light. "I'm pretty sure this is the hottest this car gets."
"Yes," she said, burying her hands under the scarf still around her neck. She tilted her head down a little and smelled his distinctive cologne; it almost felt like hugging him. "I think my ass is a little too toasty, though. It feels kind of weird."
He tipped his head back, and the car filled with his sweet laughter. She bent over and fiddled with the setting as he began cruising, trying to find the perfect temperature. She eyed his body from her angle—one hand on the wheel, back slouched against the leather seat, appearing far too relaxed to be navigating Boston's narrow and uneven cobblestone streets.
"You know, I find it kind of unfair that you're more legally able to drive in this country than I am." Her expired permit was somewhere in her wallet, reminding her of her failure to achieve the most basic rite of adulthood: a driver's license.
"You remember I'm American, right?"
She blinked. "Oh, right, your mother." Chuckling, she added, "Sorry, I forgot."
"It's fine. To be honest, I only remembered my citizenship growing up when I'd travel with my friends, and we'd stand in very different lines in the airport. The Jordanian passport is—well—not the most powerful out there."
It took them around twenty-five minutes to arrive back at her grandparents' house, spared the traffic this late in the evening on a weekend. Talia dreaded opening the door and having to meet the cold again, wishing she could just teleport to her room. Noticing her reluctance, Zaid pulled her towards him and hid her under his arm for the short walk to the front door, refusing to hear any more thank you's.
They shrugged off their coats in the foyer and made their way to the quiet living room. The entire bottom floor was dark, meaning her grandparents had already retired to their bedroom upstairs.
"That was a nice night," she commented.
"Technically, it's not over yet," Zaid said, looking down at his watch. She glanced at her phone screen, reading nine p.m. "But I have to agree."
"Does that mean our game hasn't ended?"
He smiled and took a step forward. She took one back, backs of her legs meeting the side of the armchair. "Yes, but I think I'd like the last word—or question, if you will."
"Oh, really?"
"Yes," he said, cupping her cheek with an icy hand. She shivered from the foreign feeling rushing down her body, and not his chilled palm. "I promise you can only answer this question with a yes or no."
"You're really making me wait, aren't you?" she laughed, finding it hard to return his intent gaze.
Holding her breath, she watched his left hand rise and grasp her other cheek. He titled her head back, giving her no choice but to lose herself in those alluring hazel-brown eyes.
"Can I kiss you, Talia?"
A gasp escaped her lips as soon as a yes came to her mind. The word left her mouth seconds later, but he swallowed it, closing his mouth over her own. In contrast to his usual coarse attitude, his lips were so soft, on par with the tenderness with which he handled the rest of her. The hand on her cheek traveled to the back of her head and guided it as he deepened the kiss, tongue sliding into her mouth. Her hand dragged down his chest and felt his beating heart through the material of his sweater, in sync with her own, leaving her on cloud nine.
He slowly dragged his face away, gazing at her with a certain tempered lust. She brought her fingers up to her parted lips and registered that she, in fact, had just willingly let Zaid kiss her—and he looked like he would do it again.
He didn't, for now.
"Tisbahi ala khair," he said, wishing her a good night in Arabic.
Talia watched him walk across the living room to the foyer, until he disappeared at the staircase, realizing, among many other realizations tonight, that she didn't know how to reply to him in the same language.