Beware

It was their first dinner. For weeks she had invented little tricks to avoid eating together, finding it too intimate, worse than sharing a tootbrush or peeling nuts from one plate. She would say that she had already eaten, or that she felt filled from his love. The whole idea scared her away, she would see the cutting, slicing, ordering, chewing, thinking and playing. She would see how he composed his plate, the colours he chose. There was the tempo, the opening of his mouth, the eye contact and most of all, the touching of the food with his hands.

They had chosen a small cosy French place, with black windows and wooden tables. The food was offered on a daily basis, no use to try to figure out a dish beforehand. They sat down on a small table in the middle of the place and warmed up with a hot saké. Unnecessary.
He took grilled fillet steak with creamy white and red beans and leeks.
Meat.
She courgette salad with mint, garlic, red chilli, lemon and extra virgin olive oil.
Veggies.
A man and a woman.

He started. With his knife he cut a small piece of the meat, then used his fork to put it in his mouth. He slowed down eating and tasted. For seconds. Then he listened to her, asked questions. Was slightly fascinated. When she was telling him about the chill in the air, he stopped chewing. His hands took a little red azuki, he played without noticing. She easily finished his plate before him.

A success no doubt.