Stella blushed when he kissed her and stammered a hasty good bye before she, shoes firmly in hand, went upstairs to her apartment and leaned against her door after locking and bolting it securely for the night. She touched her cheek and closed her eyes in the darkness, trying to summon the feeling of when he had kissed her. What had it meant? It was too long, too lingering to be a friendly peck, no, it had been a kiss. She was feeling unsettled and yet smiled, it had been a lovely evening, and for once she hadn't done or said anything stupid. Had she? She plopped the shoes on the ground by the door and took of her dress and walked, in her underwear and stockings to the dark window overlooking the street. From downstairs she heard music, and she smiled, hoping he was like her relaxing. Was he thinking of her? If so, what was he thinking?  She removed her garters and rolled down her stockings and those were left on the window seats, the catless window seat and she went to the bathroom where she cleansed the make up off her face, and took the pins out of her hair, watching her locks cascade once more to her shoulders. The next thing that went flying was her bra which ended up on the piano seat.<br/><br/>Stella slid on her favorite XL sleep tee and padded back to the kitchen to have a cup of chamomile tea. It felt odd to walk around without having to worry about tripping over the cat. She wasn't sleepy anymore either so she opened the cupboards and looked around for something to contribute to tomorrows breakfast. Two dates in a as many days? Was he serious then? She didn't dare hope, and on one hand didn't want to open her heart and mind to it again, didn't want to get hurt. In a way she wanted to hide in her apartment, not deal with this, and on the other hand she couldn't wait to see him again tomorrow. Well, she just wanted her cat back, right?<br/><br/>From her fridge she pulled out cream, butter, and frozen blueberries, and eggs, and a lemon. From her pantry came sugar,  vanilla, flour, and baking powder.<br/><br/>An hour later fresh blueberry scones sat on the wire rack, cooling down, while she still heard music from downstairs. Did the man ever sleep? Wait, did he even like blueberries, or scones?<br/><br/>"Everybody likes blueberry scones," said the devil authoritatively on her shoulder, "and if they don't you want noting to do with them."<br/><br/>"Except Anton," said the Angel with a little yawn.<br/><br/>"Maybe," conceded the devil. "Maybe."<br/><br/>Stella had cleaned up the few items there had been to clean while the scones baked and she yawned now too, and turned off the light in the kitchen and headed to her bedroom.<br/><br/>In the morning Stella eyeballed the scones longingly but she had promised not to eat, so she behaved herself and merely glazed the scones with a lemon icing, while drinking coffee. He had said nothing about coffee and that was that. It was eight thirty AM when she sent him a text.<br/><br/>Let me know when I should come. Can I bring a cat treat?<br/><br/>Stella<br/><br/>While she waited for the reply she stood helplessly in front of her dresser. What does one wear for breakfast? A dress? Would yoga pants and a sweater be alright? Decisions, decisions...<br/><br/>In the end she decided on a pair of leggings, a tee, and a long cardigan. She looked cute and casual and real. There had been a cute dress, but she thought casual was probably the way to go.<br/><br/>When it was the time he told her to come she took the plate of scones, a can of tantalizing trout and headed downstairs.