Michael & Noelle

"Say Sike Right Now"

The rest of the date went smoothly after that. The fact that Michael apologized and tried to reconcile after I expressed that I didn't appreciate the way he interacted with the waitress, made me really happy. He didn't apologize to me either, he apologized to HER, and that's the most important thing.

The food here was flavorsome. The chocolate chip oatmeal really got me because they cooked it up so well. It was bland prison food, it was sweet, and filled with spices, and the chocolate only made it taste like one of those subway cookies that I adored.

"It's that good, huh?"

"It's amazing, I almost forgot that I was on a date," Michael seemed to enjoy watching me eat because he barely ever took his eyes off me.

"How's your omelette?"

"Fluffy. I don't particularly like the ham but other than that I'd give it a nine on ten."

"Awesome," I place another spoonful into my mouth before taking another casual glance around.

"You really do look beautiful, Noelle, I . . . I can't stop looking at you."

"Michael, if you keep this up my cheeks will start hurting," I rolled my lips into my mouth.

"It's true," he insists, and I sigh.

"Than –"

"Don't thank me, beautiful, this is all you."

"This is crazy," I breathe, "I mean am I dreaming or something? Say sike right now."

We both laugh, and I push my plate aside, feeling full.

"Just a few days ago you barely even wanted to have platonic lunch with me."

"I know," he hums, "if I'm being honest I didn't see dating in my near future. But you were so persistent to lunch . . . and then we had an actual conversation . . . and then you made me laugh . . . like genuinely laugh and I don't know, I just wanna see where this will go."

"I completely understand," I bubbled, "but what're we talking about this fine morning, I've never really done anything like this."

"You've been in two relationships."

"I told you how they ended though, so you should've had an idea of how they went overall."

Michael chuckles, rubbing under his chin.

"Alright um, tell me about your family, you live with your aunt?"

"I do since I was fifteen actually."

"If you don't mind me asking. Where're your parents?"

I take a deep breath, idly itching my eyebrow, "they're dead."

"Oh s**t," he shut his eyes momentarily, "I'm sorry –"

"No stop, what're you apologizing for? It's okay."

"I don't mean to pry and if anything makes you uncomfortable feel free to let me know."

"You're a sweetheart, Michael, and it's completely fine. I think I've just come to terms with their death. They were in the army so."

"But," I raise a finger, "they did leave me in the hands of the best woman on Earth, so I'm actually not all that mad at them."

"Your aunt? She does seem pretty nice. She has a very warm voice."

"She does," I agree, "what about your family?"

"Um," he leans back in his chair again, scratching the back of his neck, "my mom's a hairstylist, my dad's a farmer and I have two sisters that's in college right now. It's all just pretty . . . usual."

"You're right I'm not sure what I was expecting to hear but it wasn't that."

"Why not?"

"because you're . . . you know . . ."

"Successful?"

"Extremely wealthy."

"Ahh," he nods, "I get that. A lot of people assume that my wealth was generational, that I had some sort of huge advantage that brought me where I am today and that couldn't be farther from the truth. I got here off of pure luck and talent. One minute I'm in my basement experiment with different smells that I enjoy, the next minute my mother's selling fragrances for me to her neighbors and friend."

"And it was only up from there."

"I can't blame them, your scents are unique, and they last forever. Not to mention they're no harmful chemicals too harsh for the skin. If you made a lotion line, I would personally buy you out."

Michael cackles, throwing his head back in genuine laughter. I giggle at the sight.

"I guess that's something I'll have to consider," he added, "I feel like we're talking about me a little too much."

"How'd you get into dancing?"

"Oh, a friend of mine. I couldn't find a job and they were hiring so I just had to get with the program. No cute, inspirational backstory there."

"You're good at it though."

"It's the black in me, I love to dance, I love any afrobeat, anything that has rhythm."

"I can't dance to save my life. I'll look like a scooting dog."

I cover my mouth with a palm, my eyes wide as I hold in my laughter.

"Now, Michael, why would you say that?" I chortle and he grins.

"I'm being honest here, don't laugh."

He places his hands on the table, stretching it to where mine was. I don't move, anticipating his touch.

Finally, his hands enclose mine, and my heartbeat accelerates at the feeling of his soft, firm hands around mine.

I let out a little nervous giggle, looking up at him. He was already looking at me though, his eyes boring into mine.

"Um, burlesque dancing i-is fun. The glitters, and the jewels, the empowering feeling, it's all very encouraging. But like everything it has it's . . . cons. People often mistake us for strippers, and they try to get handsy . . . or disrespectful. Sometimes it can get overwhelming but we have personal security that comes to our rescue. The attention can be nice but there are boundaries, you know?" he nods.

"After a while, you learn to deal with it," I look down at my bag on my lap, basking in the feeling of Michael's thumb rubbing against my hand.

"Alright, that was depressing," I joke, "we can talk about something else."

"It's not, don't do that. I want you to express yourself freely with me, I'm always listening."

"This is our first date, Michael, you're starting to seem too good to be true," I lean forward, licking my lips and he sheepishly smiles.

"My bad, I'll dial it down a little."

"What're your future goals? What do you look forward to the most?"

He ponders on it for a second, "I don't know . . . I feel like I'm comfortable with where I am, and what I'm doing currently. As for the future, what's supposed to happen will happen, I've learned not to waste now by thinking about later."

"I earnestly wish I could say the same. That I wasn't worried about my future but I . . . I feel like we're. . . like I'm in this endless loop. Like life just goes on and on and there's just no meaning for it. I feel like there just has to be something more than this and if there isn't . . . I'm not sure that I'd like to live like this for the rest of my life – I'm sorry, was that depressing again –"

"Hey," he scolds, "your feelings are valid, your emotions are valid. I'm serious. Stop apologizing for sharing what's on your mind."

"And I get you . . . I never stopped to think about it but . . . that actually makes a lot of sense."

Michael's phone rings to life, and he glances at it.

"It's twelve already," he taps a few times before looking up at me.

"You've got to go?"

"Yeah, I'm sorry, I have a meeting."

"No, it's fine. I'm pretty sure first dates don't last three hours," I chuckle, putting my stuff together.

He flags over the waitress who brings the bill, and pays it off.

Once again, he takes my hand to help me down the stairs, and opens up the passengerside for me.

"Mr. Kane," a man with a camera quickly runs up to him, and I watch as his face becomes ice cold, "Mr Kane are you dating? Mr. Kane can you tell The Montage if that woman in the passenger seat is your significant other?"

"No, but I can tell you to f**k off," he spits, swiftly sliding into the driver side, and pulling out.

"You're a celebrity around here, huh?"

"I wouldn't say that," he huffs, shifting in his seat, "the problem is I won't give them what they want, and when someone can't get what they want . . ."

"Well, what do they want?"

"An invitation into my life."