The front doorbell rings.
This time it’s him. I look at him unwittingly through the spyhole; devil, how sexy! However, I have a feeling of déjà vu.
I open the door and refrain from jumping to his neck. He kisses me, again on the cheek—I can’t take it anymore—and hands me a gift package. Its shape bothers me but I’m not going to start blaming him for anything. Officially, we’re not even together yet.
“Great! A book! Thirty Over Thirty! Perfect!” I say sarcastically.
“You’re very beautiful!”
“Thank you.”
“I’m hungry!”
“Me too, if you only knew!”
“Eh? What?” he asks, busy in the kitchen.
“No, nothing!” I say slightly angry.
“Tada! There you go, at the table!”
“Great. Thanks, Paul. You take care of me so well. I’m spoiled for my birthday.”
“You know… the book… It’s a joke.”
“Ah...
