We've been dating for about a month and you're finally going to cook for me. You always talk about cooking, and your eyes light up when you do, but you seemed nervous about it. Like you wanted to be sure before you made that next step, like it was a next step. Maybe it was for you, maybe it was another rung in your dating ladder. Whatever it was, I was glad you finally asked me to come over. Your dark eyes lit up when I said yes and leaned in to kiss you softly, sealing the promise on your lips. I knew I would love whatever you made me, which was a surprise because you were tight lipped about your plans.

I pulled on a cute dress and some flats, adding an extra swipe of mascara to my lashes and a light shadow. I didn't over do it. I don't need to with you. Not that I don't need to look nice, and I definitely wanted to look nice, but I could tell that you were the kind of person who could see the beauty underneath. I had asked you if I could bring anything over, and you told me no three times before I finally got you to say yes to wine, a nice red. I had picked up a bottle on my way home from the studio. I grabbed that and my purse and threw on my jacket before hopping down the stairs. I stopped at the corner and bought you a beautiful mixed bouquet of flowers. They were bright and exotic like you and I can't wait to see the look on your face when I hand them to you. You always look so surprised when people do nice things for you, especially me. You never seem to believe that I want to do these cute things for you.

Babe, I want to do these things for you for as long as I can breathe.

I know a lot of girls who shun the idea of flowers, saying they're pointless because they die in a few days and why waste the money on something that will wilt away. But, I love flowers because it's the idea that counts, the gesture, the gift of giving itself. Flowers are a nice way of saying I was thinking about you, care about you, love you, without breaking the bank. So, I love giving people flowers. Dates, friends, my mom. Plus, you had already mentioned on one of our first few dates that no one really ever bought you flowers before. Your parents had, and your Abuelo before he passed, but no one special. That nearly broke my heart and I vowed right then and there to myself to always buy you flowers, just because.

Walking the short distance to your apartment was a character study. Our neighborhood is colorful and vibrant, teeming with life. I always wonder to myself how many times we may have passed each other without even realizing it. What it took for that fateful night on the subway platform to happen. Would we still have found each other living this close? New York City is a giant city filled with millions of people- we lived within blocks of each other and it took that cab ride to put us together.

Your neighbor smiled at me as he let me in your front door. I knocked and you looked surprised when you popped the door open, finding me in the hallway. I held the flowers behind my back and reached in to peck the surprise off your face before handing you the wine. It was a nice Cabernet that I enjoyed at a friend's house, and you commented that you loved this winery. I smiled at the coincidence. You stepped aside to usher me in and I kissed you on the cheek as I walked in, pulling the flowers from behind my back as you closed the door. I held them out and said they were for you when you turned around. Your eyes grew wide with surprise and awe before you smiled a big dimply smile at me, and leaned in to kiss me, once, twice, three times.

The way your eyes lit up and how your dimples stayed rooted in your cheeks told me that buying you flowers would never be a waste. You slipped my purse and jacket off with one hand, hanging them on the rack by the door, before grabbing my hand and pulling me into the kitchen. It smells divine.

You didn't have a vase, why would you if you never get flowers, and I apologized for not thinking. You give me a soft smile and a sweet kiss on the cheek telling me it's ok and there was no way to know you didn't have one. You pull a large glass out of the cupboard and fill it with water, snipping the ends like I advise before slipping them into the water.

I spot a kettle on the stove and can tell from the heat that the oven is on. There is already a bowl of salad on the counter, filled to the brim and the lettuce sprinkled with tomatoes, onions, beans, avocado, pretty much everything delicious. I smile and asked what you made me. You shoot me back a sly wink and told me it was an old recipe your Abuela taught you how to make. You lifted the lid off the kettle and I spotted red sauce. I must have looked surprised because you giggled and I blushed, sorry for assuming anything. You uncorked the wine and poured us two glasses as you started your story.

"When I was twelve years old and a bit of a firecracker in the emotional department, my Abuela sat me down in her kitchen and told me she wanted me to learn how to cook everything I could. I already knew what went into a lot of the dishes my family regularly made, and she wanted me to learn how to make other recipes. She handed me two eggplants and told me to peel them and slice them into thin pieces. It took me forever and when I was finished she told me that she was going to teach me an old recipe from her friend and neighbor- eggplant parm. The two of them used to trade recipes and teach each other how to make them. This was the first thing I learned how to make on my own. I've kind of perfected it."

You shrug as you finish your story, your smile small and shy. You are so, so cute.

The timer on the stove dings and you pull out a covered casserole dish. I take advantage of the view, admiring the curves of your body. We haven't slept together yet, wanting to let the magic between us unfold a little bit, but I never hesitate to appreciate your body. I take a sip of wine as you turn around, hoping that you didn't know I was staring. The sparkle in your eyes was all I needed to see to know that I hadn't been as sly as I thought.

My friends think it's strange that we haven't had sex yet. Not that I'm a slut by any means, but I am very open about my sex life and my appetite. You and I had a brief conversation about not wanting to rush anything and we are on the same page. I can tell you want me by the hooded look your eyes have when they met mine at times, the way you hum when we kiss, the way you curl into me, the spark I feel. You know how I feel as well, I see you get bashful when you catch me staring, and I am never shy about letting my hands roam your body. But, we both want to explore this thing blooming between us in courtship, getting to know one another, for as long as possible. It's as if we both understand that this is really it and we have all the time in the world to progress to more physical fun, things.

And, I love this part. I love getting to see you open up in new ways, letting myself really see you and feel you without mixing sex and hormones. Don't get me wrong, there are definitely hormones involved, but getting to know more of what makes you you, what makes you tick, what makes you who you are and what you like will only help me make you feel everything I want you to feel when we finally take that leap.

I want to know what will make you gasp, moan, call out my name.

The more I know about you fully clothed, the more I will know about you naked, underneath me, on top of me.

I must have been staring off again, because you call my name and look at me expectantly. I blush and apologize, and you lean over and kiss my forehead, grabbing my hand and leading me into the living room. Apparently, the eggplant parmesan that smells amazing has to cool.

I ask you more about your Abuela, you previously had not talked about her much. You look away for a moment before turning back to me with a small, sad smile, and explain that you haven't seen her for a while, since you came out. Your eyes glaze over for a few seconds with unshed tears, and I know a hug would have been overwhelming for you, so I squeeze your knee, letting you know I'm here. I let the silence sink between us for a moment before you tell me your coming out story.

And my heart breaks for you.

This time I do pull you into a hug, kissing the side of your head, letting my actions do the talking.

You smile and apologize for the dip in the evening. You're so silly. I kiss you soft, sweet, full of emotion. "Never apologize for showing me more of you."

You smile and kiss me this time, before hopping off the couch, smiling and holding out your hand for me, pulling me into the kitchen. Your mood returned to its light, flirty, fun nature and I am glad for it. I love seeing new layers of you, but I also love it when you flirt. You are a world class flirt, babe.

I can't resist myself, pulling up behind you as you stir the sauce on the stove, wrapping my arms around your waist, moving your long dark hair to one side of your head to kiss your neck silly.

I know I made the right decision in waiting to kiss you until our third date. I know we made the right decision about waiting to get naked. I love that we can be intimate with one another without throwing our clothes off. It will only make throwing our clothes off more meaningful, emotional, spectacular.

And, I know in my heart that once we take that leap, there will be no one else for me.

You walk over with a sly smile on your face, setting our dishes in front of us. I carefully take my first bite and am in heaven. You hold your fork in front of your mouth, looking at me for a reaction before you take a bite. The giant smile you flash me says it all.

After I helped you load the dishwasher, ignoring your commands to stop, and smacking your delicious behind while you were bent over, we moved to the couch to continue talking.

You ask me what my coming out story was like, and I give you a small smile before explaining to you that I never really had one. I never hid my feelings or attractions from my parents, or my family, I am who I am and I like who I like. My parents were accepting, and for the most part so was my family, but there were a few in the older generation who didn't get it. But, as I got older, it became less of an issue.

I feel a little bit guilty telling you how easy it was for me, after you explained your horrible story. You must have noticed my body language, because you leaned in and gave me an innocent kiss, holding eye contact before saying "I'm glad not everyone has to go through chaos."

We start kissing in earnest then, making out on the couch for a while, letting our hands roam but being careful not to get too worked up without any follow through. The way your lips, tongue, hands roam all over me works some kind of magic I've never felt before. I am lost in you.

We are both lost in each other until our bubble is burst by someone slamming a door in the hallway. You pull away from my lips, all hooded eyes and dimples and panting, and I want to have you right there. But I know it's not our moment yet. You and I are destined to have a moment, an ignition, a sign. It's not here yet, but it's getting closer. Before you can move across the couch, I kiss your left cheek and whisper my adoration of your dimples into your ear. I feel you gasp on top of me.

I make to get up off the couch and get ready to leave, it's late and we both have work in the morning, but you pout. You actually pout and I can't handle it. We haven't even been dating for very long and already your pout is enough to make me stop time for you. I tilt my head questioning your look, "I don't want to be without you yet. I'm not ready for tonight to be over." your voice is husky from our kisses and it cuts right through me.

How could I possibly ever leave your side when you say things like that?

You pull my legs over your lap on the couch and I settle in, grabbing the tv remote off the coffee table. Knowing we were done with the kissing and the fun times for the night, I flick the tv on and start channel surfing. You rub my calves and shins and let your hands wander while we look for something to watch. I'm too focused on your hands, the way my body is still thrumming from your lips, not paying attention when you ask me to stop on something. It's your favorite late night program, and a favorite musician of yours will be playing. You look bashful over your excitement, but I just smile. It's endearing and so, so cute. You are so, so cute. You are so, so everything.

I settle into a quiet reverie with you on the couch. This is what I love about us. We are in our own kind of honeymoon phase. We are content to be with each other, curled on the couch, spending time together. Intimate but not physical. Learning about one another, learning each other's touch, breath, pulse.

You started falling asleep before the musical act, and I nudge you softly with my foot. You startle as you wake, but your eyes melt into deep pools when you see that I'm still here. Your smile is warm and big and you give me a deep kiss before saying another word.

And it's my favorite kiss.

When the show ends we both stand off the couch, you wrap me up in yours arms, still not wanting to let me go. Kissing my ear before whispering "I like how you look in my apartment, on my couch." It was my turn to gasp, and I feel a warm sensation in my belly.

You walk me to the door and hold out my jacket for me. I kiss you softly, innocently, before thanking you for dinner and squeezing your hand.

And I smile the whole way home.