Page 36 of A Boy Is a Gun: Part II
Three
Taylor
Three dozen roses.
Not a dozen.Not two.Three.Each arrangement was perfectly arranged in crystal vases, lined up like they belonged in the window of a Parisian florist.Their scent filled my apartment before I even closed the door.
Beside them, a sleek black box tied with gold ribbon—Belgian chocolates so expensive they looked like jewelry.The note tucked inside was handwritten, deliberate in its simplicity:Tonight.
This was a different type of romance.This was one of those Netflix rom-coms, Hallmark movie-type romance.I don’t know if Jiro did this with every woman he impressed, and I also don’t know if I’m just one of many.
But he does make me feel a certain type of way, though.I can get used to this shit real quick.
He showed up exactly at seven.A dark suit jacket over a crisp white shirt, his long hair pulled back, not a strand out of place.
“Ready?”His voice was warm, like the first sip of espresso in the morning.
I nodded, letting him take my hand as he walked me down the hall to his place.
The moment the door opened, I stopped.Candles—dozens—soft pools of gold light flickering against the walls.The table was already set, the kind of setup you’d expect at a Michelin-starred restaurant in New York or Tokyo.
On the menu?Seared duck breast with cherry gastrique, a delicate plate of truffle risotto, and a side of roasted asparagus so perfectly plated it looked like art.
“You cook?”I asked, still trying to take it all in.
“I create,” he corrected, pulling out my chair.“Cooking is for sustenance.This is for...experience.”
And it was.We talked.We laughed.Somewhere between the second glass of wine and him telling me about the first time he ever held a chef’s knife, we were holding hands across the table without even realizing it.
Dessert was a molten chocolate soufflé, dusted with powdered sugar.He cut into it, steam curling upward, and scooped a bite onto the spoon.
“Open,” he said softly.
For a split second, I flashed back—Cameron feeding me desserts in the garden, smirking like he knew he owned me.I shut that door in my mind as quickly as it opened.
“This is incredible,” I murmured after the first bite.
“So are you,” Jiro said, eyes never leaving mine.
When it was over, he walked me back to my apartment.At my door, I started to thank him, but he cupped my face and kissed me.Slow at first—testing, tasting—then deeper.His hand slid to my waist, mine to the back of his neck.I felt myself giving in, the warmth between us turning sharp, insistent.
He walked me back to my building, and for once, I didn’t overthink.Didn’t wonder who was watching.Didn’t care.At my door, it should’ve been a handshake.A polite thank you.Maybe a promise to do it again.
Instead, he kissed me.
