Late Night Date Night - 3: Midnight Maple (Patreon)

August 21, 202X, 12:28 AM

Donnel City - College District

As she got close, Hollis was embraced by the delectable aroma of unhealthy foods prepared in unhealthy ways. The air was still hot, but at least now it smelled like batter and butter and syrup. She was surprised at the continued surge in her appetite. Even the hot chocolate hadn't fully sated it. Normally her work nights ended with an upset stomach and an early bedtime. But now…

She turned as Jerome caught up. He was still annoyingly appealing after a five block walk through cloying summer air. All the heat had done was soften the starchy edges of his work clothes. Now he was the cover model for the summer issue of Sexy Barista magazine, a publication she had just made up. His dark brown hair had even kept the slight curl which made it look boyish rather than sloppy. Her own hair was probably flatter than the pancakes they were about to eat.

Jerome stopped and spread his arms in victory. “I told you it was real.” After a moment his smile grew puzzled. “What?”

Had she been staring? Shit. She was staring. The results of her thorough assessment were probably plain on her face. Hollis whipped around to study their destination..

The food truck was a tall slab on wheels, its sides painted the pale yellow of butter. Next to the service window was a well-executed logo showing a stack of pancakes wearing a witch’s hat. “THE WITCHING FLOUR” was spelled out in spooky Halloween lettering. Two rows of string lights passed overhead, each string tied to a sidewalk tree and converging on the truck’s open awning. The scene was surreal, but undeniably…

“Charming,” she said aloud, feeling a frisson of delight. “It’s really only open in the middle of the night?”

“It's kind of their thing. And they make enough to justify it.”

Hollis made a show of looking left, then right. She raised an eyebrow.

Jerone chuckled. “I’m serious. It's quiet now, but come back at one when the last clubs let out. The line will be halfway up the block.” He gestured her towards the brightly-lit truck interior, but she shook her head.

“You first. I want to study the menu.”

There wasn't much to it. Jerome hadn’t been kidding. The Witching Flour was all about batter and sugar, with only a few allowances for savory, mostly their “world famous baconcakes.” Tempting, but ultimately she chose a regular short stack. Jerome recieved his plate—French toast—and waited for her. He gave a mock frown as she recieved her order.

“Ordinary run-of-the-mill flapjacks? Not very adventurous.”

“French toast?” she replied with the same playful condescension. “Kinda high-brow.”

He stared at her for a few seconds. Then, keeping his hands on the paper plate, he raised both pinkies with exaggerated slowness. “Being called ‘fancy’ is never an insult.” She giggled at his arch tone and Jerome's face lit up. Fuck. She was giggling.

“It was a snicker,” she insisted. His eyes practically twinkled in response.

Seeing his joy ignited a sudden yearning, almost like he’d tugged an invisible string in her chest. It wasn't just physical attraction, but a soul-deep desire for…what? Him? Not quite that…more a desire for them. She wished that she could be the version of herself that would end up with someone like Jerome.

But that Holli was long gone.

He must have seen the change in her expression, because his own softened with concern. “Everything okay?”

“Fine.” The word came out too hard. She tried again. “This is…really nice, Jerome. I’m just…” There were so many ways to end that sentence, but she couldn’t bring herself to utter any of them.

I’m just not sure I can handle “nice.”

I’m just too broken.

I’m just going to hurt you or get you hurt.

“…having a rough night,” he suggested gently.

Hollis opened her mouth, closed it, and finally just nodded.

“We can call it here if you want. It’s already been a night to remember for me.” The empathy in his eyes told her it wasn’t an act. He would let her bail and wouldn’t hold it against her.

She should do that. Leave right away. She shouldn’t open her mouth…and fail to say good night. Like she was doing now. Hollis sighed and worried her bottom lip with her teeth.

“Unless…there’s a chance the pancakes might still help?” Jerome raised his eyebrows, then lowered them. He frowned. Then his eyebrows jumped around a bit.

“What are you doing?”

He sighed. “I’m trying to do that one eyebrow thing you’re so good at, but mine are just chained together.” He squinted an eye and tried again. The effect was unfortunate and—dammit—endearing.

The corner of her mouth hitched on its own, but she followed it with a very intentional solo eyebrow raise and smug expression.

He laughed. “Fine. It was foolish to challenge the master.”

Hollis turned and strode purposefully toward a set of metal picnic tables. Jerome had rescued her from a terrible evening, so the least she could do was bring it in for a soft landing.

He set his food down across from her, held up a finger, and jogged back to the window. He returned with two large bottles of water and handed her one. The cold moisture felt heavenly and she rolled it across her cheek while he set down plastic knives, packets of butter, and small containers of syrup.

Hollis frowned. “Maple?”

“Don’t worry. It’s genuine maple, not the synthetic stuff.”

“They don’t have, like, normal syrup?”

Jerome’s look of shock was so comical that she felt another dangerous wave of hilarity threatening to turn her into a giggling idiot.

“Maple syrup,” he said quietly, “is normal syrup.”

“The taste is too strong. I just want the regular store stuff.”

Jerome blinked. “All right. I can get you some.” His jaw set. “If that. Is what. You really want.”

“Oh ho, fancy man doesn’t like it when I criticize his fancy syrup.”

His mouth twitched. “How about strawberry, at least? I can fetch that in good conscience.”

“I love strawberry.” She waited, practically biting her cheeks with glee, until he had gotten up and made it two steps. “And could you also grab me some regular syrup?” His shoulderblades hitched up and he almost stopped, then he shook his head and kept walking. She grinned and got busy emptying three packets of butter onto her pancakes.

“Here. Extra napkins. Strawberry. And some brown sugar sauce.”

“Thanks!” Hollis replied brightly.

He blew out a breath…then gave her a reluctant smile. “Heathen.”

They ate in silence, and this time it wasn’t merely companionable, but comfortable. It was suprising how fast it had happened. And Jerome’s instincts about the pancakes were correct. They did make her feel better. Maybe she was just shallow, an easy mark for sugar and strawberry and regular syrup, but God they were good. She was suprised to realize she had not only finished off the bottle of water, but eaten the entire order.

“I’m going to carb jail,” she finally declared.

“If that’s true they’ll charge me as an accessory.” He set his fork into an entire puddle of maple syrup. The boy really loved the stuff. “I’m kind of surprised you haven’t heard of this place. Aren’t you a student?”

Hollis shook her head, suddenly intent on gathering up the trash.

His eyes widened. “Oh. I didn’t realize. What do you do?”

“Nothing interesting.”

“That’s what secret agents and crime fighters say.”

The string lights flickered at the same moment the overhead streetlight dimmed. Jerome looked up, brow furrowed. Hollis didn’t have to fake her own surprise. It was too soon. Way too soon.

“I bet everyone in the city is using their AC tonight,” Jerome said after a moment. “Hope we don’t get another brown-out.” There was nothing in his attitude that suggested alarm or suspicion. Everything was okay. It was just banter. Harmless banter with a heady side of flirting.

“I’m an admin associate,” Hollis said suddenly. Nothing wrong with the truth if she kept the details vague. “At an accounting firm.”

“Seriously?”

“That’s hard to believe?” She winced inwardly at the sharpness of her tone. He held up his hands, but his smile was still easy.

“Not at all, you seem very capable. It’s just surprising.” His expression turned sheepish. “I guess I had imagined something else.”

“What?” Hollis asked, this time without the edge. She was suddenly desperate to know what Jerome had pictured in his mind as he’d given her sidelong glances over the past few weeks.

He chuckled. “I don’t know. You just seem so…effortlessly cool. If someone had told me you weren’t a student, my next guess would have been…professional DJ.”

She made a scoffing noise. “Unbelievable. Like, with the big headset and turntables?”

“Yes.” He said it with such certainty that she was charmed in spite of the ridiculousness of it. She ran a self-concious hand through her hair.

“Well…I’m an admin associate for accountants.”

“No turntables?”

“Excel pivot tables.”

“Glowsticks?”

“Why would—” There she was, smiling again. How did this man draw them out so easily? “Okay, yes. Occasional glowsticks.”

“I knew it.”

“Well what about you?” Hollis was desperate to shift the focus off of her. “For a fancy barista, you seem to know an awful lot about places like this. Are you a party monster? Fess up.”

He leaned away and rubbed the back of his head. “I am…the opposite of that.”

“So Kendis is the cool one. He tells you about the late-night action?”

“No. I'm just…” He hesitated. “…out for other reasons.”

“That’s what drug dealers and bad guys say.”

“Touché.” He set his elbows on the table and gave her a chagrinned look. “You’ll make fun of me.”

“I just told you I'm a secretary,” she dead-panned.

“Fine. I found out about this place while…doing my street art.” His eyes darted to hers and then away. She felt a pang of regret. For all of his easygoing ways, it was clear that Jerome took his art seriously. She also noted the way he absently tugged his bulky backpack closer to his body.

“Wait,” she said, “were you planning to do some, uh, street art? Tonight?” He shrugged in a way that gave her all the answer she needed. “I didn't hear any rattling cans of spraypaint.”

A secretive smile spread across his face and rekindled the light in his eyes. Something inside Hollis loosened in relief.

“That’s because I usually don't paint it. I, um, print it.” He took a second to gather himself, then looked up into her eyes, this time holding the contact until she felt the intimacy of it. “Would you like to see?”

“Yes.” The answer surprised both of them.

Jerome blinked, and then gave a nervous laugh. “Okay. Heh. Okay. But first I have to take care of my maple breath." He scooped a mint off the table, unwrapped the cellophane, and popped it in his mouth.

“You think I'm planning to get close enough to be bothered by it?” The reflexive response—husky and warm—was pure Holli. She was mortified. But before she could cover over it, make up some dumb witticism, she was distracted by Jerome. He reached over, grabbed the second mint, and slowly unwrapped it. Somehow this cute barrista managed to make the dorky display look just a bit sexy.

“Confident, are we?” Hollis tried to make it sound arch, but it came out a little breathless. It had to be the heat.

He popped it in his mouth. “I believe the phrase is ‘fake it till you make it.’ ” He did an admirable job talking around too much mint.

What happened next was way past pure Holli. It was more like “distilled and concentrated Holli,” and utterly foolish, but some avenging vestige of her past refused to cede the flirtatious high ground to a cute boy she would have run circles around two years ago.

“Well if you're that confident, I guess you’d better give me my mint back.”

His facade crumbled in an instant. She saw his throat working in surprise and felt a welcome flush of feminine triumph. He didn't move. She arched her eyebrow and tilted her head.

With an utterly bemused expression, Jerome gingerly reached up—

“Wrong. Unsanitary. Hold it in your teeth.” She mimed the action.

He swallowed, and then did as she said, clenching one mint between his teeth and hesitantly leaning forward. A red flush was spreading up his neck and into his cheeks and she loved the heady thrill it gave her.

She leaned forward slowly, closing the distance inch by inch. Finally, she gently gripped the other end of the mint between her lips, brushing his in the process. A shuddery exhale escaped him and created an answering bolt in her body that pinged around her chest before settling low in her belly.

For an instant she wanted to drop the pretense, but then he was pulling away, his expression flushed and shaken. Hollis blinked rapidly and did the same. Another mistake. They were too aware of each other's presence now, of the intoxication caused by a simple touch. She avoided his eyes, rolling the mint around in her mouth, trying not to think of his tongue doing the same. Oh God…

“Okay,” she heard someone say in a fake, overly bright tone, “let’s see some art.” It was her.