while azariah family gatherings were often taxing, bordering on unendurable β the absence of care was more haunting than the old black and white photos of aunts and uncles past that littered the estate β forrest at least knew that the meal they had catered would be satiating, as it always was. his mother hadn't touched the vintage kitchen stovetop in years. it's a relic, she claimed. her unwillingness to dirty her hands had bothered the male, but the pointed discontentment had subsided within the last few months.
the precise moment when he stopped caring ? when he'd first laid eyes on her. she had no name but occupied more space in his mind than any other woman he could think of, including his at-the-time girlfriend. he'd been immediately transfixed with her bowtie mouth, watching breathlessly while her lips curved around every syllable. and though he listened, he found himself focused less on her words and more on the smooth tone of her voice. all the things he might do just to hear it again, pitched up and whining underneath him.
what she said wasn't important anyway β forrest needed little explanation about the meal she was presenting. perennial catering was always satisfying. the fare was decadent, yet inspired the feeling of home. he likened it to the european countryside. in his mind's eye, the meal was prefaced with the following : on his walk home from a grueling, laborious day at work, he'd pass by a field of delicate flowers, picking individual blooms and creating a small bouqet, unadorned but not understated in it's beauty. just how he pictured her. as he approached his cottage, their cottage, there she'd be patiently awaiting him in the doorway, an apron wrapped around her hourglass figure. propped on one of her hips is a small child β their child. her dark, mousy hair would be tied back in a scarf, and as he greets her, he'd kiss her so hard that it falls off. then he'd place the bouqet in a vase, setting in in the center of their dining table before taking a seat. unlike reality, she'd serve a meal not to his family, but to him only. the two would sit and reminisce about their respective days while they ate, the child playing at their feet on the floor.
forrest swore he could taste this fantasy now, as he scarfed down her latest course β pan fried cabbage, braised to perfection. his stomach was singing with every bite. a new experience for him. it was almost erotic. upon the last bite, he stood up from the table, abruptly shoving his chair out behind him, before making his way to the kitchen, empty plate in hand. his stomach was full, but he was ravenous for more of her.
he moved with selfish purpose disguised as manners β simply a polite young man washing his plate. nothing more. the woman in question was perched in front of the kitchen counter, facing away from him, allowing for the painfully rousing admiration of her body yet again. for a moment forrest stood there half-stunned, pulling a puff of air between his bottom teeth as he soaked in her ethereality. she needed a name. he had to know what kind of creature she was, what to call her when she afflicted him with this animalistic desire. " delectable, " he purred, taking a few steps closer and placing the dish on the granite top. " you always are. "
