What the hell had he been thinking? That he could just whip up a candlelight dinner out of nowhere, even though he’d never prepared anything more complicated than a fried egg in his entire life? Jonas shook his head as he arranged the last candle on the table. The apartment smelled of onions, garlic, and a hint of burnt—which he tried to mask with a generous splash of red wine. Three courses. He’d planned three courses. Now a oversalted starter salad, a tough beef fillet, and a chocolate pudding that resembled wet cement sat on the table. Perfect.
He lit the last candle, took a step back, and surveyed his work. The table was covered with a red tablecloth; the napkins he’d folded into rough triangles—that was all he could manage. In the center stood a vase of fresh flowers he’d bought on the way. The candlelight cast dancing shadows on the walls, bathing the room in a warm, flickering glow. At least the atmosphere was right, he thought. And the wine was good. Red, heavy, a gift from a colleague who knew his stuff. From the kitchen drifted the scent of thyme and rosemary, mixed with the acrid smell of burnt garlic. He’d forgotten to turn off the stove when he’d put the pan in the sink. Never mind. He’d take it with humor. Lena liked his humor. That was their saving grace.
He went to the bathroom again, checked his reflection. The shirt fit well; he’d casually rolled up the sleeves. A few buttons undone to avoid looking too stiff. He ran his fingers through his hair, took a deep breath. She’d be here soon. Eight o’clock sharp, as always. Lena was punctual—that was one of her many virtues. She didn’t waste time with indecision; she knew what she wanted. And tonight, he knew, she wanted him. He’d heard it in her voice when he’d invited her. A slight vibration, a barely noticeable hesitation that promised more than a thousand words.
The Arrival
Lena rang the bell at exactly eight. When he opened the door, she stood there: a simple black dress, her hair tied in a loose knot, a bottle of wine in her hand. Her smile made him forget all doubts despite the kitchen disaster. “You look stunning,” he said, and meant it. She stepped closer, kissed him briefly on the cheek, and let her gaze wander through the hallway. “It smells like Italy in here,” she said, her voice warm and curious. Jonas grinned crookedly. “Or like an Italian kitchen disaster. But the wine will save everything.”
She laughed, and that sound was worth more than any successful meal. He took her hand and led her into the living room, where the candles were already flickering. The table was set—red tablecloth, white napkins that looked like a child had folded them. Lena sat down, smoothed her dress, and looked at him expectantly. “I’m curious.” Jonas poured wine for both of them, clinked glasses with her, and began serving the first course. The salad was actually edible if you ignored the slightly too salty note. She ate with enjoyment, praised the fresh herbs, and told him about her day. He listened, watched how her lips played around the glass, how she amused herself with an anecdote from the office. It was easy with her. No strained conversation, no awkward pauses. Just the gentle crackling of the candles and her laughter.
During the main course, which she bravely ate down to the last bite, she placed her hand on his. “You know what I like about you?” she asked, her fingers playing with his knuckles. “You make an effort. Even when it goes wrong, it’s perfect because you do it for me.” He looked into her eyes, which glistened in the candlelight, and felt a tug in his chest. “I’d do anything for you,” he said, the words coming out softer, more honest than he’d planned. She smiled, and her hand slid higher, up his forearm, until her fingertips caressed his neck. Under the table, her foot touched his, first hesitantly, then more firmly. An electric shiver ran down his spine, and he felt his body respond to her closeness.
The Surprise
After the main course, she stood up and took his hand. “I have something for you,” she said softly, pulling him from the dining room into the adjacent bedroom. He stopped. The bed was strewn with rose petals, and on the pillow lay a small, velvet-bound box. “Open it,” she whispered. Jonas opened the box. Inside lay a fine silver chain with a small pendant—a simple, curved line. “It’s meant to remind you of the night it all began,” she said, her eyes gleaming in the candlelight. “I had it made especially for you.” He was almost speechless. He took the chain, let it slide through his fingers, and then looked up at her. “Lena, that’s… incredible.” His voice was rough. He stepped toward her, wrapped his arms around her, and pulled her close. Her body molded perfectly into his embrace; her breasts pressed softly against his chest. He felt her heartbeat, fast and strong, and smelled her scent—a mix of her perfume and the warmth of her skin.
“I want you to wear it. Now,” she said, pulling away from him and taking the chain from the box. She stepped behind him; her fingers brushed his neck as she opened the clasp and placed the chain around him. The metal lay cool on his skin, but her touch was warm, leaving goosebumps all over his body. She turned him back toward her. Their faces were close; her breath brushed his lips. “Thank you,” he breathed, before he sought her mouth with his.
The kiss began gently, exploring, as if they wanted to get reacquainted with each other. Her lips were soft and tasted of red wine and sweetness. Jonas let his hands glide over her back, felt the fabric of her dress under his fingers, the gentle curve of her hips. He pulled her tighter, deepened the kiss, let his tongue stroke over her lower lip. She opened her mouth; a soft moan escaped her throat, and he dipped into the warmth of her mouth. His hands found the zipper of her dress, hesitated for a heartbeat. She nodded almost imperceptibly, her eyes dark with desire. He pulled the zipper down; the fabric slid from her shoulders, revealing her bare skin, shimmering in the candlelight.
The dress fell to the floor, and she stood before him, only in a black lace bra and tiny panties. Her body was breathtaking—a slender waist, full breasts pressing against the fabric, long legs that invited him to
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