Flash in the Pantry: Untitled by John Connolly

“I will write to you,” he said.
She rolled her eyes softly and replied, “What will you write?”
“Answers. You have questions, don’t you?” he inquired, eye brows askew.
“I do. Like, was it really love at first sight?” she said with a touch of nihilism in her tone.
A lick of his lips and his response was quick, “It was and more. I saw the rest of my life flash before my eyes and every frame contained you.”
Warmly blushing, she then asked, “Ok, what confirmed your attraction to me after that? What’s your validation?”
With complete confidence, or as she would of said, utter cockiness, he wiped the corners of his mouth and dropped the napkin to his plate. 
Freshened her near empty red, with unfettered eye contact. 
Gripped raised and tipped his Scotch neat ladened tumbler, leaned back casually in his chair and began his response. 
“Your smile first caught my eye, it transformed that tiny dump of an apartment my friend then rented into just the humble, cozy type of place I hoped we could share as our first home.”
He paused long enough to sip his Scotch and lean in. With a softer voice and louder smirk he continued, “If I may be a bit crass, as you headed for the door your round little…”
”Ask the waiter for the check, please,” she sharply interjected, cheeks fully blushed. 
Lips now locked in full grin. 
She playfully swiped her napkin at him before tipping her forehead to her hand in a giggle hiding salute.
Regaining her composure, she looked at him, with his arrogant yet alluring simper and asked, “Now that you’ve told me this, of what will you write to me?”
“I will write line after line, stanza after stanza, chapter after chapter, an endless saga about the wonderment of our love and lives.” 
”For the rest of my life I will write solely of you. Only to you.” 
Then, blushing himself and as if frightened by his flagrant vulnerability he surrendered eye contact and lowered his gaze as he raised his Scotch and caressed the back of her hand with his free hand.
“I will always love you,” she said with the hint of vibrato only held back tears of sincerity can induce.
In an equally capricious voice he repeated, “I will write to you.” 

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