Nutmeg

The sky is that navy shade, the one when night is curling under the covers and dawn is yawning as she sleepily peeps open her umber eyes. Stomachs rumble in hunger, making midnight's lovers realize it's been hours since any real food has served their famished insides, although ravenous hunger of a different kind has been sated all too well in the blackest hours of the night.

They are the only ones in the twenty-four hour diner and the heavy-set, jolly waitress seems glad for a set of giggling clients. He steals an empty corner booth, placing a quick kiss on her pretty mouth as he pulls her down beside him. Normally she would protest his cliched representation of coupledom, but tonight she goes with it, trying on a new style of living in this second and thinking not of the next.
The bubbling waitress serves their meal cooked to order, the grits dripping salty butter, just the way she likes. He playfully grabs the spoon and digs in the gooey white mass, producing a bite much too big to be lady-like. She laughingly protests as he tickles her ribs, refusing to show any mercy unless she promises to show appreciation for what he honestly believes is a romantic gesture.
"Okay, okay!" she squeals, hurriedly procurring a napkin to alleviate the inevitable catastrophe. As she predicted, he mimicks a groom at the exchanging of cake with icing overload and makes a mess of her chin. She is too happy to be angry, though, and softly moans in wicked delight as he attempts to clean the sticky mess he made with his glib tongue, trailing her jaw lightly until his lips find her neck.

She sighs in complete contentment as she leans into the warm crook of his shoulder, her eyes drifting shut to the comforting clink of dishes and the soft sizzle of hashbrowns frying. She feels the hum of quiet laughter deep in his chest and opens a sleepy eye, biting her lip as she looks up to meet his nutmeg gaze.
"What?" she asks him with a tentative grin.
She feels the strong clasp of his fingers on her waist. He breathes deep.
"You just..." he trails off, still holding her clover stare. She stays quiet, letting his eyes speak for him.
"I know," she whispers. "Me too."
Suddenly, nutmeg brightens to cinnamon as he pulls her to him, the waitress and the restaurant and her scrupulous reservations deliciously slipping away.