Page 40 of Something About September

“Toothless?” she asked, pointing to the jar.

“Our sourdough starter. Pip named him. From How to Train Your Dragon, possibly not a movie you’re familiar with if you don’t spend time with eight-year-olds, but it’s his favorite. We have to feed Toothless every day or he’ll die, so here we are, a few years later, still keeping a sourdough starter alive.” As he spoke, Cort dropped eggs into a mixing bowl, whisked them, then added cheese, salt, and pepper. He had the sleeves of his Henley rolled up, and Rebecca found herself mesmerized by his muscled forearms. She bit her lip—then realized Cort was watching her. “You look deep in thought,” he said. “Although with you, that’s normal. What’s on your mind?”

“Honestly?” she said. “How sexy it is watching you cook.” Then she laughed. But he had put down the whisk, his expression grown serious. He stepped toward her.

“Oh, yeah?” he said, rounding the kitchen island and sliding her off the stool, his hands on her hips. “Well, that’s interesting, because I was just thinking how sexy it was to be watching you watching me cook, so we’re on the same page here. And I was also thinking that I hadn’t kissed you hello yet, which is a drastic oversight on my part.”

“I didn’t want to distract you too much,” she murmured as his lips met hers.

“Oh, please, distract away.”

They barely noticed when the pot of water on the stove began to boil over. Reluctantly, Cort pulled away from her and went back to his cooking, draining the pasta, then combining it with the sun-dried tomatoes and the egg mixture, tossing everything together with a practiced ease. He plated the pasta, then scattered it with more grated Parmesan and fresh parsley.

“Grab the wine and follow me,” he said, carrying the plates to the table. There were fresh flowers in a mason jar on it, and Rebecca found herself unexpectedly touched by this.

“This is nice,” she said, smiling at him as he settled in across the table from her.

“It is, isn’t it?” He picked up his wineglass and clinked it gently against hers. “It just feels so…easy. I didn’t think it would ever be this way, with us.”

She sipped her wine and nodded. “We were so tortured about it, for so long.”

“So angsty,” he agreed, reaching for her hand. “But then we grew up. And now, here we are. I’m happy,” he said simply.

“I’m happy, too,” she said, and knew she meant it. “I don’t think I’ve actually been happy for a really long time.” She squeezed his fingers. “Thank you,” she said quietly. “And this—it looks so good.”

The pasta was perfectly creamy, studded with sun-dried tomatoes and fresh herbs.

“Hope it tastes as good as it looks,” Cort said.

Rebecca took a bite and closed her eyes briefly. “It’s perfect.”

“Really?” His relief was endearing.

He broke off a piece of the sourdough bread and handed it to her. “Try this, too. I think it might be some of Toothless’s finest work.”

The bread was delicious—crusty on the outside, tender and tangy on the inside, still warm from the oven. Rebecca had a sudden flash of memory: her grandmother’s kitchen, the smell of baking bread on Sunday mornings, the way Lenore would tear off pieces while it was still warm and they would eat them with butter and honey.

“You okay?” Cort asked gently, and she realized she’d gone quiet.

“Sorry, just…this reminds me of my grandmother. She used to bake bread on Sundays.” Rebecca smiled. “She would have loved that you named your sourdough starter after a dragon.”

“Oh, she knew about Toothless,” he said with a laugh. “Of course I had to share my bread baking with Lenore, who had baked so much for me in the past. Pip and I often brought over a loaf to her, and she was always very complimentary.”

“You did?” Rebecca felt a lump rise to her throat and put down her bread. “Cort, that’s…just so kind of you.”

“Your grannie was an easy person to be kind to. And Pip adored her.”

“Smart little boy.”

“He is. Sometimes I think he’s more mature than I am. He’s definitely smarter.” Cort passed her the bread basket. “The divorce was hard on him, but he handled it better than either Melanie or I did at first. Just rolled with it, you know? Kids are resilient.”

“Sometimes,” Rebecca said, deep in thought. “Some of us spend years trying to figure out how to roll with things.”

Cort’s eyes met hers across the table. “Is that what you’re doing now? Trying to figure out how to roll with things?”

Rebecca considered the question. “Maybe. I spent so many years planning everything, controlling everything. Making sure I had the right job, the right life. And then Lenore died, and suddenly none of it felt right anymore.”

“And now?”