Chapter 5

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Buttery bun. It was the first thing on the plate that Amila's eyes fell on. The second was the pile of French fries that were so fresh from the boiling oil that steam still hovered over them like swiveling, thin sideways clouds. Lastly, it was the puddles of secret sauce merging with the juice that dripped from the Angus patty and the droplets of cheese that dripped from the thick slice of cheddar that was almost molten. She swallowed trying to quell the watering of her mouth as her grumbling stomach wished she'd hurry up and sink her teeth into the magnificently constructed burger.

She was so hungry she wanted to gorge like a starving toddler but wasn't alone. Unlike her usual nights after work, she wasn't alone. Dominic was sitting across from her. So, instead of pigging out on the delectable burger, she wanted to, she plucked a fry from the stack and dipped it into the sweet chili sauce. The way the salt mingled with red chilies hit her taste buds in the right spot and she let out a moan.

"I guess that means I have to leave a bigger tip than expected," Dominic said, dipping his own fry in the honey and hot sauce concoction.

She stopped chewing, swallowed, and sheepishly smiled. "I'm sorry." She covered her face with the emerald cloth that was draped over the lap partly embarrassed and partly playful. "I was being completely honest when I said I was starving. I'm hungry and food and I have recently rekindled our romance."

He nodded while consuming another fry then said. "It's fine. Enjoy your food. Be as loud as you want."

She chuckled knowing she wasn't going to get any louder than the subtle noise she just let out but even if she did, no one near their table near the window—comfortably away from the door would hear them over the buzz of conversation and catchy pop music churning in the restaurant that was known for more than burgers and milkshakes.

Amila bit into the burger enjoying the one good thing that was added to her life after quitting ballet. The need to meticulously count every crumb of food she consumed and note what type of exercise she had to execute to burn off every carb and fat was no longer a function that her brain performed. Now, when she ate her mind just went 'yum' and sometimes she'd make her happiness known with a sound like earlier. She loved that. She loved eating and not feeling guilty. She slowly chewed her mouthful, enjoying every sprinkle of seasoning mixed within it as she set her eyes on him waiting for the words he was about to let spill from his parting mouth.

"Bread. Potatoes. Cheese." He listed all the things she avoided on their first date. "What caused this shift in your diet? I thought lettuce was life and apples were necessary."

She rolled her eyes at the saying she used to quip whenever it was time to eat, snack, and fill her stomach that always asked for more than she could give it.

"They are." She told, then self-consciously dabbed the corners of her mouth with the tablecloth. "They just aren't a part of my life, anymore." She nonchalantly shrugged as if she wasn't inflicted with a slight prick of pain.

She wished she and ballet had a sordid relationship like the dancers she once knew but that wasn't the case. She loved ballet. It challenged and inspired her; thrilled and entertained her. She wasn't ordered to take classes as a young child because her mother thought it was a fantastic skill for a little girl to learn nor did her dad make her perform hours of practice at the bar because perfection was required of all the Johnson children.

Nope.

She begged to take ballet at the age of six. It was her desire at fifteen that lace up her ballet slippers before the sun greeted the Northern Hemisphere. She spent earlier mornings and late nights in the dance studio at the Academy to perfect her turnout with precision and cement a glide so smooth gazelles would be envious. She wanted to be a dancer, she excluded entire food groups from the diet, sacrificed sleep, being in attendance during family trips, and skipped out on social events because she wanted to be the best dancer she could be.

It was her determination and skill that got her accepted to Juilliard and she was on the cusp of snagging a spot in the American Ballet Theatre. She loved it. She missed it. But she couldn't bear the thought of doing it again. It reminded her of what she neglected due to the assumption that they would always be there.

"So...does your change in food also mean a change in your desired field." He said, sitting back in his seat as if his own food was no longer where his attention rested. "Are you still a ballerina?"

Amila sighed silently, feeling a little less hungry. "I thought you wanted to treat me not interrogate me."

"I'm not trying to pry." He quickly insisted with a hand to his chest, leaning forward as if the gesture painted absolute sincerity. "I'm just curious. One moment you were in New York and then you just disappeared out of my life and then I ran into you here of all places."

"I grew up here." She gestured toward the window with an almost sad quirk to her lips then narrowed her eyes at him. "...and did you just run into me? I know you're a techie with great reach."

He let out a sweet chuckle that sent his gaze to the side and the way the blonde at the next table beamed at him would make one think he was trying to pick up another date while he was already entertaining someone. But not Amila, she knew he wasn't that type of guy.

"Honestly," He turned back to her with a hint of a smile still upon his handsome face. "I thought about it then I remembered how much you hated Joe from You and resigned from the idea."

She laughed surprised that he still remembered the show she went on about at the time of their first date in an effort to get him to binge it later.

"I watched it." He proclaimed, rubbing a hand down the side of his immaculately sculpted beard with a faraway stare in his eyes. "It was all I could do not to call you again. I thought we hit it off." His gaze refocused on her. "What happened?"

"I don't want to talk about it." She shook her head, looking back at her food as emotions started to swell within her again. "I just want to enjoy the moment. This right now."

He nodded. "I've been doing a lot of that. It's kind of my new life's motto. Too busy to think about anything other than the present."

She chewed on a fry and nodded along as if she was also too busy to deal with her own present situation; which happened to be the furthest from the truth. She wasn't busy. She had no plans for the future or the present. She was doing something she'd never done in all her twenty-one years of life. She was coasting. 

"I downloaded your app." She said and the words gave him a smile that would knock a few stars out of the sky.

"You did?"

"It was fun."

"Yeah." His tone ticked up as if he was surprised then his smile demoted to a grin. "I sold it."

"What?" She didn't know if she should congratulate him or give him a consoling hug remembering how much work and time he put into the little trivia game he and a friend worked on.

"It was worth it." He added as if he could read the worry on her face. "Really worth it and now I'm juggling a few new business creations that will be just as lucrative."

She blinked a couple of times then sat back against the welcoming chair being swept up in a bittersweet wave. She remembered the conversation they had about their dreams and aspirations; his were lofty and hers were attainable with much work. But months later, he was actually achieving everything he wanted while she no longer knew what she wanted; other than someone she could no longer get back.

"What's wrong?" He asked, scooting closer to the table. He reached across it and insisted she set hers against his palm.

But his wish wasn't granted. Instead, her hand went to her face to wipe the moisture from her eyes that threatened to graduate into tears. She groaned, angry at herself for getting weeping in front of an old flame but the therapist she used to go to right a couple of months after losing her family told her not to fight her tears. Let them fall and cry, ever since then, they had been hard to push down.  

"You're a freakin' rockstar in life and I'm..." She stopped to take in a breath and compose herself. "I'm a dropout former ballerina making eight-fifty an hour. I smell like coffee every other day, my feet feel like kick rocks all day and I don't have enough money to buy better shoes."

She ignored the tears that slid down her face because she did feel miserable. There was no hiding it and she had no idea how to fix her situation...until he opened his mouth.

"Let me help you."

"No." She immediately shot him down rubbing her face dry with the back of her hand. "I may be a failure but I don't need a handout."

"You're not a failure." He concretely insisted. "Now, I don't know what's going on with you. I hope you feel comfortable enough to tell me one day but you're not a failure. You're just going through a difficult time so let me help you. I have the means...let me put it to good use instead of spending it all on strip clubs, boozes, and drugs."

She chortled. "What? You don't drink or do drugs."

"I could." He smirked. "I have a shit ton of money. I might as well pick up new habits unless you want to help me out."

"Help you out?" She eyed him with intrigue. "With what."

"We vibe." He gestured between them. "We have a genuine connection. Chemistry. And..." He paused for a moment as the humor drained from his features leaving complete seriousness in its wake. "I don't have time for dating but I would like to have someone special in my life that would be like a girlfriend but without all the...requirements."

"What? What are you talking about?" She looked at him strangely. "You want me to be an escort."

"No." He shook his head. "I want you to be like a girlfriend free of the relationship baggage."

She nodded slowly even though she wasn't quite sure she understood exactly what he was saying. "So...what type of things are we talking about...dates and whatnot."

"Romantic dates, trips, expense accounts, and..." He started then paused as his gaze drank her in. "And intimate activities."

"By intimate activities do you mean..." She started to ask and he nodded before she could finish. "I—"

"You can say no." He abruptly said. "I'm not some weirdo that won't take no for an answer. I'm just..." He paused and let out an audible sigh as his shoulders slightly slumped. "I'm tired of the dating scene and I don't have real-time for a relationship but I want someone special during those moments of free time that I do have and I really like you...I just thought we could both help each other out."

"I...need time to think about it." She said sitting up straight and refocusing on her food. "Let's eat. We shouldn't let this food go to waste."

He agreed and they finished their meal as if his proposition was never made even though it was consuming every neuron in her head.

















What do you think Amila's answer to Dominic's proposition will be?

Are his reasons for the proposition understandable or not?

Should Amila feel like a failure for not being able to remain at school in her dance program?

Do you think she will be able to tell him about the loss she suffered?



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