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     As night falls, you check the clock on the wall. 


"I guess I should probably be going"  you say in a not-so-convincing voice as you stretch your arms out. 


"No way!'  bellows Ristain.  "It's Saturday night.  Where do you have to be tomorrow morning.  Please stay."


    Blushing a deep shade of red, you look away, hoping he doesn't see the overwhelming joy on your face.  You hide the fact that you've  received exactly the response you were hoping for after that pathetic attempt to appear apathetic.  


    The two of you sit around the fire and talk until the early hours of the morning.   Finally, after a consumptive yawn, he stands and reaches out his strong hand to you, pulling you upright.  He leads you to the bedroom and you fall asleep in his arms. 


     The next morning you again wake to the sweet smell of culinary genius.  You roll out of bed and stride into the kitchen.  Ristain is standing bare-chested at the stove cooking what looks to be pancakes.  The familiar gurgle of the coffee maker and the sweet aromatic smell is a welcome sound and smell.  


"Good morning, beautiful" he chimes, "I was beginning to wonder if you would ever get up.  There's coffee mugs in the cupboard above the coffee maker, help yourself."





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