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His question throws me off balance. I’ve spent so long hating my brother, I can barely remember a time when it was just the two of us when I didn’t.
My mouth opens and shuts.
“It can be anything, firefly. It doesn’t have to be anything elaborate. Just a good memory.” He says it so casually, but he doesn’t know what it was like.
But he does.
His family let him down too.
I take a deep breath and close my eyes, allowing the memories to filter through my brain. When it hits me, I smile.
“You found one?” he asks, and I open my eyes to find him staring at me, his own smile lining his face.
“I did.”
“Tell me.”
I slant my head and stare off into space. “After my parents died, I often wondered how things would have been different. Not having a mom around was hard. You don’t realize at first how much a mom does, but then one winter, I did realize what I was missing. It was so cold. The snow had turned to ice, and we were too poor. I had no gloves, and we couldn’t afford anything.”
“What happened?”
“Roman found old gloves for me. They weren’t the right size, and there were rips everywhere. But he took out mom’s old sewing stuff. He had no idea how to sew, let alone how to thread the needle.” I can’t help but laugh. “But he sewed up every hole. They were the ugliest gloves you’d ever see. But they kept me warm.”
“I’m happy you had him. Even if you only had him for a short time.”
My eyes fill with tears. “I’m happy I had him too. I just wish I had longer.”
“I know. I’m sorry if I upset you.”
I shake my head, wiping the tears that fell from my eyes. “Thank you for reminding me. I almost forgot what he was like. What he was really like.”
Gideon reaches his hand out and squeezes my hand. “Well, then, I’m happy.”
We fall into silence, but it’s brief as the waitress returns with our food.
The meal that follows is nothing short of magnificent, and the rest of my evening passes in a blur, filled with light conversations that seem to last forever.
Being with Gideon reminds me of what I imagine holding stardust would be like. Beautiful and surreal, and you know it can’t possibly be real.
His eyes never stray from mine the whole time; they’re intense. This moment feels different. Like tonight changed everything.
And maybe it did.
* * *
After last night,I don’t know where we stand. I’ve kept my distance, but now I find myself hungry and with nervous energy coursing through me.
I make my way to the kitchen, and when I step inside, I’m immediately enveloped in warmth. The air is thick with the scent of spices and freshly baked bread.
This kitchen is a chef’s dream, I’m sure. In myapartment, I barely have a kitchen. A sink, a stove—so small it’s barely usable—and an oven just hardly allow it to pass as such.I don’t even have a dishwasher, but since it’s just me, it’s not the biggest deal.
This place, however, has everything.It’s something out of a magazine. I love it.
When I was a child, I had a kitchen worth cooking in. It wasn’t quite this big, but it was still impressive. My mom would always bake amazing desserts and homemade bread. I couldn’t wait for the day she’d teach me how to do it.
Then my parents died and there went my chance of learning to bake with my mom.
My eyes sting as I try to stave off the tears welling in my eyes. Losing my parents hurt. Now I’m all alone. I blow out a breath, shoving down those thoughts.
