~ Close (Last Year Was Complicated)

drove him to my apartment. I wanted to show him a part of me I've never shown anyone. My new condo. A place where I've placed myself in, trying to convince myself that this is my home. A place where I truly belong. It's what I do every decade; I try to manipulate myself into believing that I belong somewhere and maybe with someone.

But then the days pass and become years and I come to realize that all I'll ever be is alone. It's all that's in store for me. My future was a void blur of things that don't matter when you have forever to live.

"Beautiful place," he murmured to himself as I locked the door. I turned around and watched him take it all in, his eyes wandering around my carefully decorated living room. "How long did it take you to do this?"

I smiled. "The decor?"

He nodded, looking quite taken aback at the way I'd situated the room.

"Well, about a week," I shrugged, walking over to where he stood and admiring my own work.

He turned to me sharply, disbelief flooding his features. "You did not do this in a week."

"I did," I laughed.

"Well fuck me," he said under his breath, probably to himself. But I heard and the sudden chill that ran up my spine was uncalled for.

Instead of reacting the way my body would rather have, I let out a low chuckle. "I suppose that was a compliment."

He turned to me. "You heard that?"

I nodded, pulling my lips into a tight amused smile. "Yeah."

A smile drew across his lips and he turned back to my living room. I took a step closer to him and grabbed his arm. "How about I show you that something now?"

His eyes met mine. "I'd love that."

"Well come one then," I said, tugging on his arm to follow me. I walked him to the large bookshelf that took up the wall beside the doors to the balcony. I looked for the familiar jade hardcover notebook. When I finally found it, I pulled out and handed it to Harold.

His eyebrows arched as he stared at me and then at the notebook questioningly. "What's this?"

I nudged it into his hands before answering his question. "It's my grandmother's old recipe book."

"Wow," he mumbled under his breath as he opened the cover. "How long have you had this?"

Over eighty years, but that wasn't an answer I could give him. Rather I said, "a few years. I honestly don't know. I never use it."

He shook his head, his eyes brightening as he turned the pages quicker than I'd expected. "This is amazing!"

"Yeah," I laughed, "my grandmother loved food and everything about it. She wrote all of those recipes by herself and they're all amazing."

He looked up at me, smiling. "And you?"

"Well, I mean, I love food but," I shrugged, "I'm not a natural cook like her. Although I wish I was. I can never make her recipes come to life like she did when she made them."

His eyes wandered from me to the pages of the notebook before returning to me with cautiousness. "Why are you giving this to me?"

I froze for a moment, because I didn't know what to say. I don't even if I knew the answer to that. Why was I giving a stranger something that meant much more to me than I could put to words? I was handing it over like I trusted him to keep it safe, like I knew he would treasure it almost just as much as I do. I am going crazy. "Actually, I was going to take you my favorite spot in the city; it's such a view. However, you told me about what you do and I immediately thought of my grandma. I felt like I had to show this to you."

"You're trusting me with this?" His question came in a whisper; his voice was so low, his eyes afflicted.

Smiling, I nodded. "I am."

"Why?"

I shook my head. "I wish I knew. But I feel like I can trust you. Maybe I'm wrong to trust my gut instinct like this, but it feels...not wrong."

He tilted his head. "Not wrong?"

"It feels right, Harold," I corrected myself, stepping closer to him. I walked to the spot in front of him and reached for his cheek. "Please, don't let me be wrong," I whispered when he didn't say anything. I leaned up to capture his lips with mine. And damn if I wasn't taken back by how good they feel again.

Pulling away quicker than I wanted, I stared up into his eyes, looking for any signs that maybe I was pushing too far. But there were none. He looked at me with a passion I couldn't describe but felt. I could feel it pouring out of me as time passed and for some reason, I wanted him to see it. I wanted him to see, to know, how I felt. Regardless of the fact that I didn't understand how I was feeling, I wanted him to understand. Because then maybe, he'd help me to understand what I was truly feeling and why it was all happening so fast.

"I won't," he smiled, his thumb caressing my lips. He leaned in again, reconnecting our lips and sparking a fire within me that I didn't know how to put out. Not that I wanted to, of course. But I feared that if something were to go wrong between us, I would be left with this ignited fire within me that I didn't know how to rid of. I was afraid that I would forever be left with the memory of his lips, his passion, him.

This time, he pulled away. "I feel the same way, you know?"

I blinked slowly, still in a daze from his kiss. "What do you mean?"

He licked his lips, his eyes lightening in color as they gazed at me. "You feel right," he spoke with a tight voice, but then he shook his head and went on. However, this time around, his voice was clear as if he had gotten an assurance of some sort. "And I don't know why. For some reason, I feel like I've known you for longer that I truly have. It gives me this feeling that I can trust you, completely put my faith in you."

At this point, my breaths were coming in sharp as his words slowly dawned on me. "You ever think that maybe we're just crazy?"

He laughed, making me smile. "You never know. Maybe we are."

"But you know what, I'd love to be crazy with you. I want crazy."

He laughed again, shaking his head at me. "That was incredibly cliché, love."

"Life is a cliché," I shrugged.

"Really?"

I nodded.

"Would you call us a cliché?" He challenged lightheartedly.

I squinted my eyes at him. "Okay, that was not what I meant."

"I know," he chuckled, "I'm just teasing you, love."

I snickered at him and shook my head.

"Tell you what," he said, grabbing my attention. I raised my eyebrow in question. "How about I make us something from your grandmother's recipe for dinner since you barely ate anything."

I feigned a gasp. "Okay, first of all you didn't eat anything either."

He smiled. "That's beside the point. And secondly?"

I grinned and pecked his lips. "I'd love to help."