He wasn't supposed to do anything for me. He always says I deserved it but did I really?

"Now open your eyes," he whispered.

And there it was. Another incredible surprise from my dear, good friend . . .

"Mark," I said, "You did all this? You actually did all this?"

He didn't seem to hear me. He was smiling appreciatively at the thing that was set before me. To others they might find it silly but to me, it was something different.

It was a dinner. No, not a candlelight dinner with roses sprinkled around the table like hopelessly sick couples (no offense!). Mark and I were just teenagers… and good friends, no doubt. We never did anything romantic of the sort. However, my friends thought we deserved more than this simple-minded friendship.

"Oh come on, Claire," one friend said, "You know that after all he's said and done to you, you know he's purposely trying to catch your attention."

"I know Lilly. I know."

"But what you don't know is why he's doing it, right?" She jerked her head closer to mines as if scolding me for something wrong.

I shook my head. For two years I've been ignoring it…ignoring "us". Sure, I've spent more time with Mark ever since last summer but really, I haven't touched upon the word "us" for a long, long time.

"I don't suppose you'll eat unless I push you, huh?"

He looked at me earnestly like a cute, little puppy. I can't believe him. I honestly can't. Over the phone he said he had something "little" to show me and this was it? Is he crazy? I don't recall five different homemade cakes and seven different meals "little"!?!

"You're too much Mark." I walked to him, leaning on his body a bit. "Is there anything else you want to show me before I hit you across the head?"

Smiling, he, without notice, laid his head on top mines slipping his arm around my waist as delicately as if my body said "fragile".

"Aw," he moaned, "My Claire doesn't like it? I thought you said you have the biggest appetites?"

I buried my head, smelling a new scent in his shirt. "I do Mark. I do, but you could've at least told me."

Then, somehow, I felt my body sway. Someone was humming music to my ears also trembling as he began to sing.

"…mon chere amour, you're the only one I love you more…"

Unbelievable. Just unbelievable.

There we were in his cozy little house, dancing to his soft music. I don't understand why he tells me he cannot sing because right now, I find no fault in whatever note he sings. And even if he did mess up, Mark was the type of person who continues to play a song—whether or not people notice. Regardless, if he cooked this wonderful dinner, it still doesn't change the fact that I appreciate him just the way he is.

I tell him that.

"I'm still not good enough for you though," I hear him say as he holds me tighter.

A/N: Is this worth to make chapters? Or shall I stop this and make it a short story…?