But I stumble into silence as awareness pricks at me, as I realize that somehow both of us have leaned forward so far that our faces are now separated by no more than six inches. Our food sits forgotten, pushed out of the way, and our breathing is too fast, too harsh, too loud in this kitchen. His lashes are too dark, too long; his eyes are too full of fire as they drop to my lips; that smirk looks too much like something I could lick right off of his face.
