His hands.

He put his thumb in my hollow armpits and his fingers on my shoulder blades. He picked me up and made sure I was settled on top of the mahogany bar. Well, there was no liquor. Just a silver espresso machine and a black SMEG refrigerator. I dangled my legs. Until he pulled up a stool, I crossed my shins, to be decent.

One of the perks that came with knowing a restaurateur was being able to stay after working hours and play chef in the kitchen. And his Renaissance-decorated bistro was the perfect playground. It was perfectly designed; high ceilings, a bare floor, by which I mean cement unadorned by tiles or wood, mahogany tables with golden metallic chairs, which were muted by the dark colors of the walls that evoked inspiration. If I was an aspiring poet, I would never leave this place. I would waste my days away here, having deep pessimistic thoughts. Then, rationalizing them, relating them to the norm, and reassessing life as we know it.

He came back from the kitchen with a plate in one hand and two forks in the other.
"What are we having?" I asked.
"Strawberry shortcake," he said with a twinkle in his eyes.
"Mmmmmm.." I hummed. Strawberry Shortcake was my favourite dessert. And he knew it.

He placed the plate to my left and handed me one fork. He put the other fork on the table top. I poked at the cake and put a piece in my mouth. The cake was as light as air, the cream firm; but melted as soon as it touched my tongue. He watched as I devoured the cake bit by bit. After a quarter had vanished, I realised that he hadn't had a piece. I picked up the plate and offered him some. He declined, adding "I'm just waiting for you to have strawberry breath."

I wrinkled my nose. "Naaasty!"

He got up, dragged the stool and sat right infront on me. I put the cake and the fork down and gave him an uneasy smile. He rested his hand on the bar, to my left. Then, came his other hand to my right. I was locked in. I didn't think anything of it, until he rested them on my thighs and began pushing my dress up.

"Soud..Here?" I asked.
He brought up his face to mine. He kissed my lips. I kissed him back. He pulled back, suddenly. I opened my eyes and looked at him.
"Mmm.. Strawberries.." He remarked, slyly.
"Yess.." I replied in my sexiest voice, as I leaned towards him.
I bit my lower lip and looked up at him. He knew what I was insinuating. After all, he started it.

Then, his smile appeared. The smile that I had fallen for so many years ago, still managed to make my heart race and weaken me at the knees. Sometimes, I would be playing hard to get and not giving him the attention he wanted. He would whip out this very smile and I would look at him like a lovestruck thirteen year old looking up at the poster of a celebrity heartthrob plastered to her wall.Yes, he was my Clooney, my Johnny and my Brad.

Just as his hands made their way around my hips, my phone rang. I dropped my head in disappointment.
"It's the nanny." I said with pursed lips,as I looked at the phone.
"We better get back," he replied firmly. I could sense the disappointment in his voice.

The car ride was quiet. His eyes were fixated on the road. He had one hand on the steering wheel and the other resting on the arm rest. I interlaced my fingers in his. He brought my hand up to his lips and kissed it, ever so delicately.

I got out of the car while the engine was still running. I unlocked the door and stepped into the foyer.
"Anna? Anna.. Where are you?" I asked, as I took off my scarf.
"I'm here, ma'am. I'm sorry to call you. But, he was not able to sleep without you here," she replied.
"It's okay.." I said with slightly pouted lips.

When I got to my son's room, I found him lying in his bed under his Transformers comforter staring at the ceiling.
"Barooki, ishfeek 7abibi?"
"Ma abee anam!" He exclaimed. His eyes still staring at ceiling.
I sat beside him and planted a kiss on his forehead.
I sat there in silence, not wanting to cause any stimulation that might distract him from sleeping.
"Laish 6aweltay?" He asked. Breaking the silence.
My face got flustered. I couldn't possibly tell my 5 year old son what I was up to.

Soud appeared at the doorway.
"Haa Barak.. Mu nayim!" He said jokingly.
"Baba, mabee anam. Abe ag3ed wiyakum."
Soud sat at other side of Barak's bed.
"La baba. May9eer. Bacher binroo7 9oug 2il yim3a, 3ashan nishtiri turtles."
"9ij?!" replied Barak with wide and curious eyes.
"Ee.. Ana wiyak bini6la3 bacher. Fa lazim a6ali3 mama 2ilyoum," he replied and gave me a wink.

Barak was at a loss for words. Soud gently stroked Barak's head. Within minutes, Barak was sound asleep. We made our way out of his room. Soud shut the door behind him and wrapped his arms around my waist.

"A7ibik," I whispered.
"Mu kithri.. 9adgeeni, mu kithri" he replied as he playfully kissed my ear lobe and worked his way down.