Sunni Knows

By Lawrence Grodecki

"Smart, sexy & mysterious with interwoven characters - think of the film, 'Love Actually'." That's one reader's take on Sunni Knows, and it would be hard to sum it up any better than that. Sunni, which is short for Sunaria, is actually a bit of an outsider in this mix of mixed-up characters. They're all pretty smart, but it's hard to tell, given the things they do, and their apparent blindness, denial, or confusion when it comes to love. They care for each other in the oddest ways, clutching to secrets from the mild to the ancient, even to the point of tinkering with something perhaps sacred.
There is one secret that ties them all together, though it takes awhile for them to realize it. When they do, the lives of these half dozen people change forever, and you will wonder whether it was fate all along, or merely coincidence . . . it's as simple as believing in love or not.
The funny thing is, Cupid seems to be playing her own game with them, regardless of what they think . . . or do. However, instead of slinging arrows, she seems to prefer throwing curve balls . . . a lot of them . . . lots of swings and misses, but there's also a home run or two . . . and in the end there is no denial.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lawrence Grodecki
• Release date: Jul 30, 2013
• ISBN: 9780992029609

Lawrence Grodecki

Born in Winnipeg and raised on the prairies, Lawrence's first passion was sports, especially baseball and then hockey. In the private hours it was reading, from Treasure Island to biographies on Leonardo da Vinci. This passion for reading eventually helped him endure his trials at various universities - four of them across Canada - culminating in a psychology degree and then an MBA in strategic planning from McGill. He began his career at Reader's Digest, but soon returned to the prairies to run a few gardening catalogs, where among other duties he wrote about tulips, sub-zero roses, and Elephant Ears.In his debut novel, Dawn at Last, readers delight in the storytelling . . . the tragedies and triumphs, and the timeless aspects of love. However, it's the characters that make it both memorable and real. Smart, sexy, mysterious and refreshing. That's how others see his writing.He has also been called a troublemaker, though he claims this is without intent.For a more in-depth biography and other information, please visit his web site: LawrenceGrodecki.com.

Book preview

Dawn at Last

Written & Published by Lawrence Grodecki

Smashwords Edition

This is a work of fiction. The incidents, characters, and dialogues are products of the author's imagination and are not to be construed as real, with one incidental exception. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any form of information storage and retrieval system − except in the case of brief quotations as part of critical articles or reviews − without the written permission of the publisher or author, except where permitted by law.

Cover Design by Lawrence Grodecki, and based on the photography of Sandra Barlow © 2013

Copyright © Lawrence Grodecki 2013

ISBN: 978-0-9920296-1-6

Table of Contents

Chapter 1 – The Ending Begins

Chapter 2 – It’s Sunni . . . and They’re Both Wet

Chapter 3 – Squishing a Grape

Chapter 4 – A Shocking Surprise

Chapter 5 – Seeing Double . . . Again

Chapter 6 – The Best Laid Plans

Chapter 7 – Tossing One’s Truffles Away

Chapter 8 – The Secret Exchange

Chapter 9 – Trying to Plan a Destiny

Chapter 10 – It's a Date?

Chapter 11 – Hot Topics on a Cool Night Out

Chapter 12 – It’s Not the Tips

Chapter 13 – Fully Applying the Principles

Chapter 14 – The Gathering of a Monkey, a Toad, and a Chicken

Chapter 15 – The Goddess Awakens?

Chapter 16 – And So They Dance

Chapter 17 – Pushing Buttons . . . and Talking it Over

Chapter 18 – On to the Frying Pan

Chapter 19 – A Late Lunch Of Cognac and Pastrami

Chapter 20 – Look Out . . . Wet Flooring!

Chapter 21 – 317 Browning Road . . . Revisited

Chapter 22 – The Painting

Chapter 23 – The Musketeers Get Defensive

Chapter 24 – We Can Still Dance

Chapter 25 – Sunni’s Happy Daze

Chapter 26 – Getting the Giggles

Chapter 1

The Ending Begins

Bound and impatient – these words have haunted Donna Belauche for the last three days. They have nothing to do with submission or domination, at least not in today's psycho-sexual context. She's too much of a loner to dwell on that, besides she left all that stuff behind. If anyone really knew her, that would marvel at her patience. Yet this phrase – this title of a painting – screams at her in a whisper, but in a language she doesn't understand. Perhaps it's all beyond words? Something's wrong. Change is required, but change what? The restless feeling is maddening, all because of a few words, like pins in a voodoo doll. She thought she buried that doll years ago, yet here it is again. Her only refuge is to think of something else.

Thankfully, she has no more time to dwell on it. Donna must prepare for her next two-hour session – her time to escape – at least for awhile. Her next client is due in fifteen minutes. She quickly reviews her plans for the session. Thankfully, it will be a easy one – he's an easy client. He has been coming to her for almost three years now, so on average he is more than half done. All the same, she must soon let him go. That's an easy change, at least according to her plans.

Ben Talbot, her two o’clock, is thankfully quite different than her other clients. He is much less predictable, which makes it easier in a way – less preparation required – and she does like to improvise.

In a way it's like a steady stream of first dates. Her clients are always trying to impress her, knowing that she is completely unavailable under any circumstance. That outcome is guaranteed. They playfully torture themselves in a form of a self-inflicted angst. They fool themselves in the thought that one day they will have her in a different capacity than the one of therapist. She makes this impossible . . . but then there is Ben . . . he just might screw up everything.

Her performance is not the same with him around. She never knows what he will say next, though in manner he is quite consistent. She likes that. He always shows up late for their sessions, and then there is his coffee . . . he likes that fresh and hot and strong, loads of cream, the real cream, and about two teaspoons of sugar.

With that in mind, she scurries off to the kitchen to prepare a fresh pot of mud. That is actually his term, not hers, though she's sure he would actually drink real mud if it had enough cream and sugar.

He is nothing special to look at, average at a glance, but after a short while, there is no doubt that he is a handsome man. She first thought he must be 5' 11. However, in one session his height came up in conversation, and he clarified the issue. He claimed that in fact he is 5' 10 and seven-eighths . . . and a bit.

You would expect such a slender man to move quickly, but he doesn't. He's a walking oxymoron, like a lazy gazelle, or at least one in slow motion. His contradictions suit him well. He has that look of vulnerability, as soft as a baby's bottom. However, he seems strong in spirit – a soft invincibility.

If he likes you, he will occasionally pass a smile your way. He has a knack with the timeless ones, the smiles that linger, becoming indelible memories. They come without warning, unintentionally, like a child. It is his trademark, one that Donna noticed by their third session. That's when she wrote in her journal, genuinely kind and charming, but next to that she added, "perhaps a little dangerous . . . be very careful."

Her two o’clock has a well established business as a house painter – a very successful one. He has one hired hand, he calls her his helper. He could hire more but intentionally stays with one. This keeps his affairs small, less complicated, and assures the finest quality in the city. Because of all of this, he is in the highest demand with the leading decorators of the region, especially the ones who specialize in renovations. They keep him fully booked for months in advance.

Donna fondly remembers their first session, when he told her that he paints. Before he could say more, she then rambled on about her favourite abstract painters, then the impressionists, and then a little about Gustav Klimt. Finally she asked about his specialty, which medium did he prefer?

She blushed in embarrassment when he replied, Sometimes oil, but mostly latex! Seeing her embarrassment, he explained that he paints houses, not pictures. That's when he first flashed one of those smiles, returning her reference to Klimt, "But I like The Kiss more than the rest."

Now, with one minute to go, she is ready. She can relax, assuming that he will be late as always, but then the doorbell rings. She gasps when she opens the door, smiling at such a comical figure – soaking wet – the water dripping from his long nylon jacket and his full head of hair . . . the epitome of a modern day Charlie Chaplin, just taller and with more meat on his bones, and no moustache or hat. Then his smile comes out.

Come in Ben, she says graciously. You’re soaking wet, what ever are you doing? . . . And where’s that old umbrella of yours?

Hi. I gave it to someone who needed it more. Besides, I didn’t have time to shower this morning. He backs out into the hall to remove his wet jacket and his shoes.

That’s okay, I’ll take that. She gingerly places the wet coat on the rack, letting it drip over a re-positioned rubber mat.

Ah, nothing like a warm, soaking rain in the middle of June – gotta love it! You know, you're street is really kind of beautiful in this kind of rain – actually it's always beautiful – Donna, you're very lucky.

She just smiles, You must be ready for some fresh coffee . . . why don’t you sit down and I’ll bring you some?

He nods, but before sitting, he asks her for something dry to sit on. She brings him a big plush towel, draping it on the burnt-orange loveseat. Ben sighs comfortably as he plunks himself down. He likes that she refuses to change anything in her office, not a single thing since their first meeting. The warm colors of this loveseat, and the matching one across the table, he feels at home here. Her place is on the opposite couch, and the only thing between them is a fine mahogany coffee table.

The thick multi-colored area rug soothes his tired feet, something he always appreciates after spending so much time standing. He often compliments her on her tastes . . . the plants and pictures, even the lamps and the coasters. He is grateful that she doesn’t have a fireplace, as then this could easily pass for a suite. That kind of warmth might just be too tempting for him . . . he wonders how that might be . . . the two of them, by a fire.

While he daydreams, Donna brings him his coffee and then takes her usual seat. She lets him enjoy his first sip and watches him gaze across the room, toward the window. In this dense rain you can barely see the row of two-storey houses across the street. It is now only a grey silhouette.

Now Ben, I don’t mean to be abrupt, but we have a lot to talk about today. You do remember that today we have our six-month review?

Yeah, and how fast it’s been, he grins as he pulls out a notepad from the inside of his rumpled sports coat. I brought my notes!

She gently laughs, I had no idea you kept notes. Would you like to start with that?

He teases her, Are you sure you want that? You might find them less than kind when it comes to some of your skills. She says nothing, though her curious expression invites him to continue, Okay then, here goes . . . let me see now.

He tears out a sheet and reads it, January 15th – the coffee is good, it is actually hot today – wish I’d brought some donuts.

He flips a couple of pages and tears out another sheet, January 29th – the coffee is a little weaker today, still very good. She must have gone shopping recently, but it seems different today, and it wouldn't be like her to change the beans.

As he is about to tear out the third sheet, he looks at her and says, The next one includes a comment on the cream . . . should I go on?

She smiles and says no. Ben, you know you are very charming, we’ve talked about that before. My notes are more detailed, a journal, but there really is no need to bring them out today. You’re a very smart man. It’s been a long time now, since you first came to see me about your problem with intimacy . . . I should restate that shouldn't I? With you there was never a problem, just an unending curiosity to know more. I think we established that a long time ago . . . do you remember what I told you six months ago?

He finally becomes serious, Actually not really. Not exactly. I think you were trying to tell me that pretty soon I'd be done. You said you wouldn’t be comfortable taking my money any more – something like that. It seems you didn’t think there was much at all that you could help me with. It's funny though, how fast those six months have gone, and still . . . here we are!

Well I suppose that is one way of putting it, she replies. "I told you that in my professional opinion, soon there would be no need for you to keep seeing me, that you have all the skills you need to establish an intimate relationship. We’ve been through all the issues of building trust in a relationship. You know the importance of two-way communication and you’re very good at that. In fact it seems the only thing that’s missing is the right person. As for your interest in those abstractions, that love-in-the-air, I simply have nothing to offer you, except perhaps a reading list."

With that he laughs heartily, "Boy, what a setup! If I knew that before then I may not have signed on. All these skills and no one to share it with. Somehow I reminded about that movie guy who said ‘my love life is great . . . now if I only had someone to share it with!’ or something like that. Maybe I should have just joined a book club instead?"

She is only mildly amused, "There is no need for sarcasm. I told you from the beginning that I don't do soul mates . . . this isn’t a dating service. I know you’re fully aware of that, but it sounds like you're a little hurt or perhaps disappointed, so I’m not sure whether your humour is hiding something. She leans forward, If there is more, then you should tell me now."

Ben turns sullen, caught a little off-guard. It appears there are too many thoughts racing in his head. She wants him to open up to her – he only wants her, openly. For him, she is the only problem, at least in terms of intimacy. She has been for a long time now. He just can’t tell her that. She would be sure to dismiss him, politely, but all the same . . . dismissed. For all her expertise, it appears she can't see through his façade. He knows he's ready for a wonderful relationship . . . that's his dream, but only with her, at least in the long run.

Donna doesn't know that he long ago gave up that kind of search, the search for a significant other. That too is because of her. For a long time now, dating feels more like completing one of her exercises – something to ensure his return every two weeks. He will keep coming back as long as she will allow it.

Privately, he sometimes questions this strange dependence on her, his willingness to let her control him this way. Ben often suspects that she plays him, but she's a professional, so he must be misreading her signals. He's convinced that she is not that good at acting, not nearly as good as him, so the mutual attraction has to be genuine. What concerns him more is How many other men feel the same about her? . . . certainly all of her clients must face this same dilemma . . . Donna Belauche, "the goddess on a pedestal".

Could she possibly be content with just a simple house painter? The two of them have been through a few related discussions, just not in the context of Ben and Donna. Those talks, or debates, touched on the issue of separating one’s inner self from one’s occupation. They always seemed to end in a stalemate, with neither able to reach a satisfactory conclusion.

She agrees that it really shouldn’t matter, at least on some idyllic plane. Yet it does seem to matter, in the harshness of the real world. It’s not only the money aspect that grabs his curiosity. There’s the issue of the job specifics, and then there is the problem when one has no job. So how does love differ for a prison guard compared to a mailman, or to an artist, or to a slave? For Ben, this is all very confusing . . . what he wants most is to make it all simpler . . . the living and the loving. It seems Donna is of no help in the matter.

Ben? Are you alright? I can see you’re deep in thought. Why don’t we pause for a minute and let's freshen up our coffee?

He nods his approval. As she glides away, he tries very hard to only glance at her, trying not to stare in awe, but it is of no use. Once again his mind is swirling because of her curves, together and separately . . . so visually intoxicating . . . every slight movement full of hypnotic poetry.

Her face is one for the ages, occasionally glowing, and her hazel eyes have a deep-set life of their own . . . haunting at times. Mostly though, there is something she hides that draws him in. It's as if her entire past is stored in those stunning cheekbones, and it just spreads from there. He knows that she's fully aware of her physical charms. He doubts that she realizes the lure of the tragedies . . . her secrets. She hides them well, except for the occasional sadness.

As she returns with the fresh coffee, he blurts, "It really is quite odd, isn't it? I mean the whole notion of your kind of therapy . . . for a single man . . . I'd always thought of it as something couples do. I mean, don't singles need more of a sex therapist than this kind of counselling?"

Ben, I'm a little shocked by that statement – maybe you do need more time than I thought – that's a really loaded statement, and I'm not judging you by saying that – care to explain it more?

I'm sorry. I don't think that came out quite right. I know these skills you teach are important, but it does seem to make more sense for couples than for single people . . . it must be much easier with couples?

Yes and no . . . it really depends on the individuals and the couple. As usual though, you really like to delve into my practice, my other clients, and I'm sure you know by now what an awkward position you put me in. Now tell me more . . . I'm really curious about your comment on sex therapy . . . is that what you think you really need?

Ben laughs, "Don’t we all?"

"There you are, funny and charming as always. By we, do you mean all people, or all men, or just men similar to yourself . . . what do you mean by 'we' Ben . . . or do you mean just you? And when you say ‘sex therapy’, are you referring more to the sex or the therapy?"

"Geez Donna, it was just a joke! I suppose you can call it a 'guy thing' kind of comment. You see, after all this time, I still have my faults . . . I don't think I'll ever get past that."

Ben, you are far from a sexist pig, so don't be so hard on yourself. Would it be fair to say that no matter what, you still associate true intimacy with sexuality?

I hadn't really thought of it that way. Perhaps – I don't know – I've never had a strictly sexual relationship . . . have you? . . . I'm sorry, there I go again. I shouldn't have asked that . . . but as you can tell, I guess I do wonder about you, in many ways . . . just being honest.

Donna is becoming increasingly uncomfortable with the conversation's direction. Her plan to begin their ending has gone down the drain, rushed away as fast as the water outside gushing into the gutter. To make things worse, she inadvertently glimpsed between his legs and noticed a bulge. It didn't bother her, as she's sure he didn't catch her. Oddly, she found it amusing.

Smiling, she secretly teases him, "You know Ben, I've never heard you talk like this before . . . is everything okay? You seem a little worked up. Is there something you want to ask me, but perhaps don't know how?"

I’m sorry . . . I’m fine. You’re right, I seem to be losing myself in another one of those dreams – I’m sure glad you don’t do dream analysis – and thanks for asking.

She glances a second time, but this time he catches her. Embarrassed, he says, I'm sorry Donna, I think it’s time we came to terms about something . . . I don’t think I should come here anymore. Something's not right here . . . I should just say goodbye.

They sit in silence. She's embarrassed too, and didn’t see this coming. She scolds herself for being so unprofessional. Yes, she wants to dismiss him, but not quite like this, not so abruptly. Her admiration for him is one reason she wants to do this with care – he seems all out of sorts today – and now so does she, even more than before he arrived.

She thinks of never seeing him again, and instantly feels a lump in her throat, as if someone has suddenly died. However, she does a fine job of keeping this unexpected reaction hidden from him.

"Well that’s quite the statement, and so out of the blue! You know I’ve had this happen before, clients wanting to wrap things up quickly. That's often because of some kind of self-revelation, but in your case I don’t see it quite that way . . . I think we need to take a little more time, perhaps a couple of more sessions?

It would be wrong of me to try to persuade you to keep coming against your will, especially since there's not much I can help you with, including your most recent train of thought. That’s what I wanted to share with you today, our winding things down. I'd really like us to agree on two more sessions. I can't give you any professional reason for my suggestion . . . it's just my woman's intuition . . . I'd feel awful to see you just leave in this condition. Having said that, I won't be charging you anything as we go forward, okay?"

He blurts out, That's okay Donna, I have no problem paying you for your time . . . I just wish that . . . oh, never mind.

It's okay Ben, relax, that’s quite alright. You’re always full of these little surprises, though today's surprise seems a little bigger. So what do you say, can we call it a day? I think we're both a little tired now. Look, why don’t you come back next week and we can talk, and relax. It’s not supposed to be so cut and dry you know . . . that will give you some time to gather your thoughts. Like I said, I definitely won’t be charging you any more, and not for today either.

Thank you Donna. That’s very kind of you, and since it seems to mean so much to you, I’ll gladly take you up on that offer. I’ve often wondered how this would end . . . me just walking out the door today, well that’s just not how I pictured it. Somehow that wouldn’t seem right either.

"Exactly!" is all she can say, surprised by the intensity of her sense of relief.

Ben rises from his chair, I should go now . . . I’ve got a lot to think about. As he heads to the coat rack he adds, I don’t tell you everything, ya know. Some things I just need to figure out for myself.

Of course, she replies as she goes to help him with his coat. Making her clients comfortable is always something she enjoys. Today she has also enjoyed creating Ben's little discomfort, as if it just made her day in some playful way.

Some of her feminist friends would be quite upset in knowing of this doting behaviour – the way she pampers her male clients – but they really have no idea how careful she is, even with the smallest of details. She hands Ben his jacket but she doesn't help him put it on. This is something she has always been firm about. It is part of her no touching rule, not even with a handshake in session number one. Her clients quickly understand the wisdom of it, implicitly so. In a way this makes her skills all the more charming . . . doting without touching.

She watches him shiver as he puts it on, a chilly reaction to the still-damp jacket. She makes one more inadvertent glance, making sure he doesn't notice . . . she's thankful to see that the dampness has put him in a more relaxed state. Then she asks, Now tell me again about this umbrella of yours?

Oh it was nothing. There was a man on the street. He didn’t look like he had anywhere to go . . . he was huddled under a canvas sign in front of the bake shop, a couple of blocks from here . . . I think I told you how I usually stop there to wolf down a quick donut . . . seems like I’m always running late. So I was rushing into the shop and I saw him there, outside, and I just stopped. I handed over my umbrella, slipped him twenty bucks, and then skipped the donut and came here. I made a bee-line to get here – still got soaked – but at least I was early for a change!

He's telling her this while bending down to tie his shoelaces. He's still struggling with a knot by the time he's finished his little story. That's when Donna stroked the back of his head, gently, and not once, but twice. Then Ben calmly stood up and nodded a warm goodbye. He leaves her with one of his trademark smiles, only this one is warmer, especially around the cheeks.

As soon as Ben leaves she closes the door. She scolds herself, wondering what he must thinking now, about how she impulsively violated her no touching rule.

Ben treads lightly down the stairs, fully awakened by her tender touch of affection, though he quickly chalks it up to just impulse. Still, in the joy of the moment he has only one thought, Now this calls for a donut!

As soon as he leaves she wants to slap her hand for its violation – not once but twice – one each for both violations. Her self-disdain has little to do with breaking the rule . . . much more to do with her momentary loss of control . . . that subconscious desire to touch him . . . and whatever for?

She clears off the table, washes the coffee mugs and spoons, even the rubber mat under the rack, but the therapist gets no relief from this unsettled feeling . . . and why him? He's really not her type!

It's been fifteen minutes since he left, and in her frustration she convinces herself there is really only one short-term solution, Yes, this calls for a donut – or perhaps two?

The thought of the second makes her smile inside, as she puts on her trench coat and marches out the door. When she gets outside she realizes that she left her umbrella upstairs. She turns to go up and fetch it, but perhaps it is this rain that pulls her back. It is steady and persistent, raw yet kind. As she reaches into her purse for her keys, she just says to her herself, Nah – screw it! and with that Donna Belauche just walks away and agrees with Ben . . . the rain is warm, and right now so am I.

Chapter 2

It’s Sunni . . . and They’re Both Wet

By the time he reaches the bakery, Ben will be soaking wet again. Three long blocks away, about a ten minute walk, he takes his time, enjoying the privacy of the street on this drenching Friday afternoon.

The second shop he passes is a small convenience store. He thinks of popping in and buying a cheap umbrella, but then tells himself no, somehow that would nullify the gesture, the one of giving his grandfather’s umbrella to that elderly homeless man. He wonders whether the gesture really matters – the whole situation really bothers him, more often these days. Is there really any hope? It just doesn’t seem right. These acts of kindness seem about as futile as running in the rain when there is so far to go. With that thought he does a little running, to the end of the block and across the street to the next one, before slowing down again. Thankfully the rain and the running ease his mind, at least for now.

He stops to look into the window of a real estate office, mostly because of a large poster in the storefront. It shows a beautiful pool-side image of what appears to be a small castle near an ocean, palm trees and all. Would he ever have something like that? No, that’s not for him, and yet it looks so inviting. It looks more like a travel ad than one for real estate, the main difference being the absence of ample flesh and smiling servers.

When he reaches the next corner he crosses the street on a red light – there is no traffic. He forgets to check over his shoulder, so he didn’t see the grey Lexus zooming around the corner. The driver and the car splash him from behind with a three-foot wave. He hears the impatient honk just after absorbing the wave. Annoyed more at the driver than the water, he flips a finger to the now distant Lexus, thinking, So many jerks in Jerkville, too many to count these days.

Getting a little more wet is nothing. It’s the principle of the thing, the chronic rudeness that feels like an epidemic these days, and he’s so sick of it. Sometimes he just wants to scream at nothing in particular, and often he does just that. You would never know that just a few minutes ago he felt happier than a kid trapped alone in a candy store. Now he’s brooding, and there’s still one more long block to the bakery at the end of the street.

As he walks along he plans the evening ahead and the weekend in general, but can’t get past the idea of that hot shower the moment he gets home. His house is only half an hour away by walking, perhaps longer in this rain, depending on how it goes. He’s too wet to sit down and relax in the bakery, so it will be a stand-up routine, one more small coffee, or a medium today, and a chocolate glazed croissant, but not two.

By 3:30 he should be soaking in that inviting hot shower, followed by a shave and a solid nap for at least an hour. Friday evenings are quiet now. He’s not a kid anymore, and actually never cared much for clubbing and such . . . he cherishes this quiet time, especially after being on his feet all week. Feeling a little tired now, 4:00 can’t come soon enough, and he laughs to himself, at his own little pun, thinking how draining a little rain can be!

Here it is, Helen’s Heavenly Bakery, open from 7:00 in the morning until 6:00 in the evening. He still hasn’t met Helen, but sometimes asks about her. Once he even shared a laugh on the issue with Sunni, his favourite server. He asked her if there was any truth to the rumour that in fact, Helen is "just a tart. The question came out of the blue the first time they met, and she became an instant friend by replying, She butternut be – and one way or another, I know she has no jam."

The big wooden door feels heavier today, in all this rain. It feels lighter once open, now, with her smiling face greeting him, and she exclaims, Hello Ben. Holy smokes, look at you!

Well hello Sunaria. Yes, I know . . . it’s the hair, right? . . . Like my new style?

She groans, "Oh my, Benjamin, so formal today! Well I hear the wet look is coming back."

Today it looks like Noah’s the one bringing it in, he retorts. It seems it’s all washed up – maybe time for the rinse cycle?

He looks around and the place is empty except for Sunni and himself, Wow, just you and me and the usual yummy buns. I think you should close early and we should grab a bite.

If only I could, she moans. But don’t you have a girlfriend? Won’t she be jealous?

Oh, why would you say that? All I said is we should grab a bite, and besides she doesn’t like biting!

Sunni blushes slightly, yet she still taunts him, "But maybe I do."

She has Ben’s zooming now, caught by surprise and lost for words. The thrill of the moment gets the best of him, Well if you like the biting, then how about you be Spiderwoman and then . . . and I’ll be . . . what? Who should I be?

Now she leans over, puts one elbow on the counter and her chin on her palm, How about you just be yourself . . . I’m off at six you know. I’d love to spend the evening with you – and I know you don’t have no girlfriend. Besides, look at you! She laughs. And I’m bored out of my mind these days – the thought of another night hanging out online is so not exciting.

So young and so bored . . . and you’d rather spend a mindless night with me instead? I’m flattered. He gives her one of those little-boy smiles.

Sunni says, Sounds wonderful. Where should we meet then? Do you like Chinese?

Ben replies, "I love Chinese. I never order it when I’m alone because it’s too much food, and I’m not crazy about the leftovers. What do you say about a quiet night at