taste
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His eyes meet mine and he nods his head towards the kitchen and curls two fingers in a beckon. This is new.
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I stand at his kitchen island, wearing his slippers and a white v neck tee.
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He shifts a little, rubs his unshaven chin. His glance flickers from the current speaker to my thighs, and back again. I try not to notice.
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The toast is warm and the butter melts quickly as I spread it slowly with the knife.
Soul Journal 