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“Maura was so still he could barely hear her breathe. He spooned whipped cream into her mouth, a cherry varenyk, another sprinkle of salt. He watched the flavors marry as she chewed, saw that smile, spread across her face. He wanted to kiss her, to taste what she tasted. "There it is," she whispered. Fleur de sel," he said, holding up the little jar. "Flowers of salt." She opened her eyes. "That's beautiful." "You're beautiful. It's just salt." He felt his face burn as soon as he said it. He wasn't good at this part. "And I, apparently, am mostly cheese." "I like cheese.” — Daria Lavelle
Maura was so still he could barely hear her breathe.
He spooned whipped cream into her mouth, a cherry varenyk, another sprinkle of salt. He watched the flavors marry as she chewed, saw that smile, spread across her face.
He wanted to kiss her, to taste what she tasted.
"There it is," she whispered.
Fleur de sel," he said, holding up the little jar.
"Flowers of salt." She opened her eyes. "That's beautiful."
"You're beautiful. It's just salt." He felt his face burn as soon as he said it. He wasn't good at this part. "And I, apparently, am mostly cheese."
"I like cheese.