The Importance of Being Alice by Katie MacAlister

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    Alice stabbed one of the eggs with a fork and gestured at him with it. “You, sir, are punch-drunk.”
    â€œI have had no punch. Are you intending to accost me with that egg? Because if you are, I will be obliged to inform you that I do not care for fried eggs.” He looked closer at the plate of them. “Although I will admit, those appear to be particularly fine examples of eggdom. Perhaps a taste or two is in order. For politeness’ sake, you know.”
    â€œPoliteness?” Alice asked, looking with growing interest at the egg on the end of her fork.
    â€œYes, since you went to all the trouble of ordering us many eggs, it would be rude of me not to eat at least some of them.” He scooped several eggs onto a small bread plate and passed it to her, then repeated the process for himself.
“Bon appétit.”
    â€œI wonder if this is the Dutch idea of an appetizer,” Alice said around a mouthful of egg. “Not that I’m complaining, because you’re right, these are really good fried eggs, and I’m not normally a big fan of them, either. But still, it’s odd that I ordered us delicious wat, and we got fried eggs instead. I like the crispy bits at the edges the best. Yum.”
    They consumed their eggs in silence for a few minutes. Elliott had to admit to feeling much more relaxed than when he began the evening, a pleasant sense of well-being making his limbs tingle. And his lips. For some reason, his mouth was highly sensitized. He looked at Alice. He wondered what kissing her with tingly lips would feel like.
    â€œI’ll just save these last couple of ones in case we gethungry in the middle of the night,” Alice said, sliding three fried eggs into her small handbag. “Unless you wanted them?”
    â€œNo, I believe ten eggs is my limit,” he said, wiping his mouth carefully, extremely aware of the sensation of the roughened cloth across his lips. “If your hunger has abated sufficiently, we should probably leave before we become even more affected by the environment.”
    â€œI suppose it wouldn’t be good to show up at the ship stoned out of our gourds, especially since we didn’t hookah. I have to say, though, that I’ve become fond of this one.” She gave one of its brass appendages a pat. “It just kind of represents Holland, doesn’t it? I know every time I see a hookah, I’ll think about having dinner with you here.”
    He stood up, and made a bow to her that got a little involved when he straightened up and knocked his head into the hanging fern. “Allow me to present it to you as a souvenir, madam. Ow. Waitress! How much for the hookah?”
    She giggled and giggled and giggled, and was still giggling when, some twenty minutes later, they arrived at their ship. Luckily, most of the others were off having dinner, although they did encounter Tiffany as they were attempting to make the key work at their cabin door. She eyed the hookah with pursed lips.
    â€œIt’s a souvenir of a most delightful evening,” Elliott told her.
    â€œLike an egg?” Alice asked, opening her bag and offering it to Tiffany.
    Tiffany peered into the bag’s depths. “Erm . . . no thank you.”
    â€œShe’s one of those non-egg people, clearly. Shedoesn’t know what she’s missing,” Alice said once he had the door opened. “Damned good fried eggs they do here. Boy, it’s ten already? I didn’t think we were at the restaurant that long.”
    â€œTime flies when you are having eggs,” he said, laughing inwardly at the sudden emergence of his humor. Definitely, he needed to write a funny novel.
    â€œElliott.”
    â€œHmm?” Perhaps a whole series of funny novels. Ones with eggs, and hookahs, and women with wondrous asses. He could be the new P. G. Wodehouse!
    â€œI want to thank you for the pity kiss earlier, and the only way I know how