“You cooked all this today?”
I glanced over my shoulder as I slid another tray into the oven. “I got a bit carried away.”
“I thinkcarried awayis an understatement.”
“There’s soup in the freezer too.”
He opened the refrigerator, then the freezer. When he turned back to me, he looked emotionally overwhelmed.
“Winnie.”
“Yes?”
“You color-coded the labels.”
I smiled. “I enjoy efficiency.”
“There are even reheating instructions.”
“You have children. I assumed future-you might be tired.”
A sudden, fragile vulnerability untangled his features. He was deeply touched. “You did all this for us?”
Theusnearly took me out at the knees.
I focused aggressively on stirring sauce. “It seemed practical.”
“This isn’t practical. It’s…” He gestured helplessly toward the kitchen. “This.”
I smiled despite myself. “A compelling argument.”
Conrad laughed quietly and leaned against the counter. “I wish I knew how to cook more than survival food.”
“You cook perfectly well.”
“I can make three dishes resembling dinner and approximately nine forms of eggs,” he said.
“A respectable foundation you can learn to build on.”
“That’s not exactly inspiring.”
“It’s never too late to learn,” I said.
The way he was looking at me made my stomach tighten. His eyes lingered on my face just a second too long before he seemed to catch himself and looked away.
Before either of us could say anything further, the doorbell rang. “I’ll get it,” I said quickly.
Conrad nodded absently while CJ launched into an explanation about narrative structure from the dining room table. I glanced at his homework when I passed, pleased to see he had indeed done his math before starting on another story.
I crossed the foyer and opened the front door. A delivery man stood on the porch holding several medium-sized packages.
“Evening,” he muttered automatically.
“Good evening.”
His eyes moved over me slowly. Too slowly.
I felt the shift immediately. The judgment. The amusement. The familiar sensation of becoming spectacle before a person.
