It was a bad idea, a recipe for disaster. My umbrella is designed for one person, not two, and Ethan is a big guy, so right now my shoulder is getting wet from the rain, which means it's getting cold, though I'm trying hard not to draw Ethan's attention to it. Also, Ethan's taller than I am, more so since I'm not wearing heels, so he's the one holding the umbrella. In one way, that's good: I think my arm would fall off if I was the one carrying it. The problem is that every time the breeze blows, drops of rain land on my cheeks. Thank goodness the rain isn't that hard - a gentle shower rather than a downpour - or I'd be completely soaked from head to foot by now. But that's not why I think I made a bad decision.
Ethan wraps his arm around me and pulls me closer to him. His hand rests beneath my armpit, close to my breast.
"You're getting wet."
I pull my arm tighter towards my chest so it doesn't bump against his firm stomach in an awkward manner but I can barely get any elbow room.
This is why.
All day long, I've been trying to keep my distance from Ethan because as amazing as last night was, it left me confused. We've only made chitchat before. Last night definitely wasn't that. It was a real conversation. A personal one. It was the first time Ethan showed any interest in my personal life, actually. He's always been nice to me, but last night, he was kind. And not as a boss. True, he was still in a suit, but he treated me more as a friend. He even put a blanket over me when I was sleeping.
Are Ethan and I friends?
No. We can't be. We can't have any kind of personal relationship or else other people will notice and complain or spread nasty rumors. That's why I told myself I would take a step back. That's why I was determined to go sightseeing alone. Yet Ethan insisted on coming along, and now here we are, squeezed under an umbrella meant for one. No place for me to hide. No way for me to run.
There goes all my hard work.
Ethan and I are so close to each other I can smell his minty aftershave. Or is that his breath? If I tilted my head to the right, I could rest it against his shoulder. If I turned it and he turned his head at the same time, our lips would be less than an inch apart.
Forget about friends. Sharing an umbrella in a lovely European city while walking down an old, narrow cobblestone street, bodies huddled, no words exchanged against the pitter patter of the rain - it's a page straight out of a love story. In fact, I'm pretty sure anyone who saw us right now would mistake us for a couple.
And I almost wish we were. I almost wish we were newlyweds in Zurich for our honeymoon. Then we wouldn't care what other people thought. Or about the rain. Or about having a tiny umbrella. Or the temptation to kiss.
See, this whole umbrella sharing thing is playing tricks on my mind.
I have to do something while I can still think clearly. I have to get out of this situation before it gets the better of me. What to do?
Just then, I see a chocolate shop from the corner of my eye. It's one of those that had excellent reviews, too. An answered prayer.
I point to the shop and speak in a loud voice. "Let's go in there."
Ethan ushers me towards the chocolate shop. As soon as we're under the canopy, I break free of his hold. Finally, some room to breathe. As he folds the umbrella and leaves it in the rack, I dry my shoulder as best I can. Then we go inside.
As soon as we step in, I inhale the scent of cocoa. My mouth waters. I see the piles of chocolate on display - dark brown, light brown, square, oval, rectangle, round, heart-shaped, striped, dusted, topped with bits of gold. I swallow.
This is paradise.
"Hello. What kind of chocolate would you like?" the saleslady behind the counter asks me with a warm smile.
I look at the chocolate pieces and I place my hands on my cheek. I never thought I'd be asked such an amazing question or that I'd have such a hard time answering.
"Um..."
"You can taste as many as you like," the saleslady says.
My eyebrows arch. "Really?"
It sounds too good to be true, but she nods.
"Really," Ethan seconds. "You can try every piece."
And I would love to, but that doesn't seem fair since I'm only planning on buying a dozen at most. Besides, I still want to be able to fit into the dresses I brought with me.
I peer into the glass. So far, all I see are pieces of dark and milk chocolate.
"Do you have any white chocolate?" I ask.
"No." The saleslady shakes her head. "Sorry."
"I'm afraid white chocolate isn't really considered chocolate around here," Ethan whispers to me.
I give him a puzzled look. What? I'm pretty sure I've seen a white chocolate bar with a Swiss name on the packaging.
"Apparently, white chocolate is only made with cocoa butter, not the cocoa bean itself," he explains.
I nod. "I see."
Now I feel stupid. I'm sure the saleslady is thinking I am, too, even though she still has her perfect smile on.
"If you're looking for something sweet, may I suggest a chocolate with a creamy ganache filling?" she says.
"Actually, I think I'll try one of your caramel-filled ones," I answer.
I'm pretty sure they have that.
The saleslady offers me a striped square piece on a gold cardboard saucer. I pick it up and bite into it. Almost immediately, the gooey caramel oozes out. A thread sticks to my chin.
I pop in the rest before the caramel gets all over my fingers and my face. I can't believe I'm eating like a three-year-old.
Ethan offers me his handkerchief. As much as I don't want to accept any favors from him, I take it and wipe my chin and my mouth.
Well, that was embarrassing.
"Thanks," I tell Ethan. I glance at his handkerchief, which now has my lipstick on it. "I'll give it back to you later after I wash it."
"No worries," he says. Then he points to his front teeth.
It takes me a second to understand his meaning. When I do, a curse leaves my lips.
"Shit."
I quickly take my compact out of my purse and look at my teeth. Sure enough, I have a sliver of caramel stuck between two of them. I quickly get rid of it, but the damage to my self-esteem has already been done.
"Oh my God. This is so embarrassing."
"Not as embarrassing as having a chocolate mustache for nearly a whole day," Ethan says.
I close my compact and narrow my eyes at him. "What?"
"When I was in first grade, I came home from school and when my mom saw me, she went all pale. She thought I had a nosebleed because there was something between my nose and my lips. But I didn't. It wasn't blood. It was chocolate."
My eyes grow wide. "Chocolate?"
"See, I ate a chocolate bar in the car on my way to school and I must have gotten some under my nose. So yeah, I had a chocolate mustache. No wonder my classmates were looking at me weird."
My eyebrows furrow. "But no one told you?"
Ethan shakes his head. "Nope. Not even my teacher. Maybe because she didn't want to embarrass me."
I try to keep a straight face, but I fail, especially when I imagine Ethan with the chocolate mustache now. I clasp my hand over my mouth.
"I'm so sorry."
"It's fine." Ethan shrugs. "See, we all have our embarrassing moments with chocolate. Doesn't make us love it any less."