“Dinner.”
Noah smiled after me.
We cooked together.
Meatballs with mushroom gravy, mashed potatoes, and greens. Noah peeled the potatoes while I shaped the meat. We worked shoulder to shoulder, occasionally bumping into one another in the narrow space.
Every small contact carried awareness now.
His hip near mine.
My hand passing behind his back.
His fingers brushing mine when he took the salt.
The old intimacy had been effortless.
The new intimacy felt electric because each touch was chosen.
After dinner, we lay on the couch rather than sitting.
Noah fit in front of me, his back against my chest. I kept one arm around his waist. His recovering left arm rested on a pillow.
We put on a quiet travel program.
Neither of us watched.
“Tell me about our first trip,” he said.
I moved my fingers through his hair.
“Overnight or proper trip?”
“Proper.”
“We took the station wagon north to Alder Cove.”
“Why?”
“You found a cabin with no internet and claimed it would save my soul.”
“Did it?”
“No.”
“Shame.”
“It had an outdoor bathtub.”
He turned his head slightly.
“That sounds promising.”
“It rained for three days.”
“Less promising.”
“You insisted the bathtub was usable in rain.”
