Erotica: The Pop Up

Maya was not a big holiday person, but New York for Christmas was a sight to behold. Even for the more jaded like herself.

She had a conference in the city for work. It was a shock for her to be invited to such a corporate invention. She'd been working from home for years, but it was fine—and a free trip to New York City!

Exhausted from the day’s nonstop meetings, Maya wandered to a designer pop-up hot chocolate shop nearby the hotel, where the conference was being held and where she was staying. ‘Gourmet marshmallows and whipped cream to die for’ she was promised. She read about it in the morning paper. The novelty of it lured her, and so she found herself outside of a whipped cream-shaped structure waiting in a long line, but she had come this far, so she tried to rustle up some patience.

The cufflinks of the man in front of her glittered, and his long graceful fingers—without rings of any kind—lured her even more than the promise of designer hot chocolate. But she wasn't going to try anything, she was tired and probably looked it.

He stopped rubbing his face and clutched his suitcase tighter. She could not help but smirk, she worked mostly from home now, but she remembered all too well going to work and holding everything too tightly.

When she got to the cashier, whose hair was done like a whipped-up confection, she got a simple hot chocolate, but could not resist eggnog-flavored whipped cream sprinkled with nutmeg and cinnamon.

She stood at the window looking out at all of the people on Fifth Avenue—the people walking by and the people trying to procure a hot chocolate like herself.

“It is pretty, but overwhelming, no?” A male voice resonated behind her.

Maya turned to see the man with the glittering cufflinks—snowflakes she saw now—still clutching his suitcase while holding his hot chocolate in another hand. His upper lip was moustached with whipped cream.

She licked her lip, like you would do for a young child to indicate the whipped cream there, and then realized as an adult woman that that could be read as something entirely different.

The man smiled, as he wiped his lips with a whipped cream shaped napkin in understanding.

“Thank you, that is a delicate thing to tell a stranger.”

Maya smiled.

“How is your hot chocolate?” he asked.

“Amazing! I was looking forward to this all day. I have been in a conference nearby and this is just the way to unwind on a winter day.”

“That was what I was hoping.” He said. Maya gazed at him as she took another sip of her hot chocolate. “This is my pop-up shop. And I do not mean to be too curious…but are you referring to the conference at the Metropolitan Hotel?”

Maya nodded. “Yes.”

“I am doing the catering for that—have you had dinner?”

“No, I was thinking this might be dinner!”

“Oh no, you have to try some of the things that we are planning for tomorrow. You picked my favorite hot chocolate combination, so I trust your taste.”

The test kitchen was a dream kitchen. The perk of working from home was that Maya could feed herself well and cook as much as she liked.

Clive, the formerly whip-cream-moustached man, offered her a small plate of pan-roasted chicken with a crisp rosemary and sage skin. She closed her eyes in appreciation.

And that was just the start.

Clive was impressed with her cooking acumen, and he conversed with her about everything on the menu and let her try it. Her hot chocolate grew cold as she walked around the test kitchen with him. In the kitchen, he looked more in his element.

“I want everything to taste like the holiday without screaming holiday, you know?” He had taken off his tie, and his suitcase, which he had clutched for dear life, had disappeared.

“I know, I am not a big fan of the holidays, but I love all of the food!” Maya said.

They smiled.

He seduced her mercilessly with gourmet food, and Maya was helpless. But had he just invited her to taste the food? Or did he want to taste her?

She could not be sure.

When he guided her out of the test kitchen, his moves were more polished than the surfaces of the metallic, minimalist kitchen.

“Are you staying in the hotel as well?” he inquired.

Maya nodded.

“This is my room card; I would like to spend more time with you, but nothing is assumed. You do not find people who will tell you that you have whipped cream on your upper lip every day." Clive said.

“You can follow me if you want, and tell me if the options in my hotel fridge are gourmet enough?” Maya answered.

Clive smiled broadly.

“Give me a bit to take up my stuff to my room and then I will provide my professional opinion…” Clive answered. He picked up his suitcase with a looser grip and smiled back at her.