by Gene Cowan
The sun was slowly setting far away at the horizon of the water, almost as if it were drowning in the ocean. Kate silently turned to Greg and looked in his eyes, watching the sunset reflected in them. She kicked some sand on his feet.
“What?” he asked.
“What what?” she replied.
“I can't stand it when you look at me like that,” he said.
“Why not?”
“Because you're too cute for me to look at you for longer than a minute without causing irreparable damage to my retinas.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“Yeah…” he protested, and was interrupted when she kissed him.
She kissed him again, and he tried to squirm away.
“What's wrong?” she asked quietly.
“I don't know.”
“Then why…”
“I don't know.”
“What do you know?”
“I know that I'm falling for you.”
She kissed him again, and he didn't resist.
“What do you think we should have for breakfast?”
“Ugh,” replied Greg.
“Breakfast is the most important meal of the day, you know.”
“Oh, yea. You sound like a sales executive for the Middle Atlantic Breakfast Marketing Board.”
“What?”
“I'll just bet that when you have breakfast cereal you also have milk, orange juice, toast, and fruit on top.”
“Sure.”
“And you seal the cereal inner lining tightly before closing the box.”
“Of course.”
Greg rolled back over and hid under the covers. She's a Girl Scout, he thought. My God, she's perfect for me. I wonder what she thinks about me? I wonder if she takes the tags off of pillows?
The covers suddenly disappeared, leaving Greg's back exposed. He leapt up with surprise when he felt the ice cube land on it.
“Are you getting up?”
“Do I have a choice now?”
“Not really.”
“Alright. Go away so I can get dressed.”
Kate left the bedroom and Greg laid back down to catch some more Zs. His attempt was foiled by another piece of ice, this one thrown at him from through the door, which Kate had opened a crack.
“This means war!” yelled Greg.
“If you want war, you have to get out of bed,” teased Kate from the hall.
“You know, I think that the world would probably be safe if Reagan and Gorbachev would just lounge around in bed all day, because then they wouldn't want to actually get up and start any trouble.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means that I am not getting up out of this bed.”
“Well, what can I do to get you to get up out of it?”
“Oh, I don't know. What are you wearing?”
“Why?”
“I think my getting up depends on how much or how little you are wearing and what strategic places this aforementioned apparel is covering.”
“So, if I said I was standing here completely nude then you'd get out of bed?”
“Maybe not for long.”
“Well, I'm wearing a pink sweater and blue jeans.”
“Oh.” Greg settled back into his pillow.
“Well?”
“Well, what?”
“Are you going to get out of bed, or do I have to get tough?”
“Tough?”
“Yea.”
“What exactly do you mean by tough?”
“Well, I mean I might have to get forceful.”
“Oh, yea?”
“Yea.”
“Well, I don't believe you.”
“Oh, yea?”
“Yea.”
“So, maybe I should come in there and demonstrate.”
“Maybe you should.”
“Maybe I will.”
“OK.”
“Alright.”
“Fine.”
“Fine.”
“OK.” Greg sat up and waited. And waited. “Well, are you?”
“Maybe.”
“Today?”
“Could be.”
“Alright.” He waited. “Well, maybe I should just go back to sleep now.”
Silence.
“OK, I'm going to sleep. Here I go. Sleep. I'm going to sleep.”
“Alright.”
“Hey, wait a minute,” said Greg, hopping up from the bed. “I thought you were going to get forceful.”
“I don't need to. You're out of bed now.”
“Shit.” He pulled on a shirt and wandered out to the kitchen. “OK, what's for breakfast?”
“Cereal with milk and orange juice and toast.”
“Did you close up the inner liner to the cereal before you put it back on shelf?”
“No.”
“You didn't?”
“No.”
“For me?”
“Yes.”
“I think I'm falling for you.” Greg looked into her eyes and gave her a look that made her blush. “You're cute when you blush. And you do it so often.”
Kate sighed.
Greg looked into her eyes.
Kate moved closer.
“What?”
She stared at him.
“What do you want?”
She kissed him.