Dessert

He took a meatball between his fingers, holding it out for me to take.

“Open.” He commanded.

My eyes widened. I hesitated for a moment but then my hunger got the better of me and I opened my mouth to take it from him. The juicy meatball almost melted in my mouth, and I tried to stifle the moan of pleasure.

“Good?” he asked, taking one for himself.

I nodded and he smiled. He picked up what looked like a little parcel of cabbage of some sort and held it to my lips.

“This is my favorite, sarmale. Open.” He popped it into my mouth and a multitude of flavors exploded on my palate.

“This is so different; I’ve never had it before.” I said between chewing.

“What? Your mother never made this?” he shook his head in disbelief. It was a traditional dish.

I shrugged, swallowing the last mouthful. “She never cooked Romanian dishes.” My mother wanted to fit in with the English way of living.

He poured light white wine into a glass and held it to my lips. I took a sip, savoring the fruity taste on my