table. The distance felt like miles to William. “You must sit there.”
William sighed and walked to the other end of the table. “I'm taking the syrup with
me,” he informed her.
Casey feigned shock, placing a hand over her heart. “Will,” she paused for dramatic
effect, “you expect your girlfriend to eat her pancakes dry? I had thought you to
be a gentleman."
William sat down, grabbed the bottle of syrup, and locked eyes with Casey as he
poured. Neither broke their gaze.
“You do realize that too much syrup will ruin the pancakes,” Casey said, her stare
unwavering.
William stared at the bottle. He had used half of the syrup and it threatened to
spill over the plate’s edge. He caught himself in time, sighed, and walked it over
to Casey, who couldn’t stop laughing.
“Thank you,” Casey said. She cut her pancakes up before she applied much less syrup
than William had done.
The syrup seeped into William’s pancakes, turning them into a soggy mess as he
struggled to cut through them. From across the table, he could hear Casey chuckle.
After they finished eating, William went to the bathroom to wash his hands and
mouth. He regretted how much syrup he’d used.
Like the rest of the house, the bathroom was spotless. The hand towels looked
untouched, folded perfectly on the rack. A scent of bleach lingered in the air. At
his house, he shared a bathroom with Willow and visitors. His father’s bedroom had
a bathroom attached.
The soap gave off a floral-fruity scent William couldn’t name, but he liked it. He
brought his hands to his face three times, trying to commit the smell to memory.