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He looked at me then, a container of cut oranges in his hand forgotten. “Hey,” he said with a frown. “You okay?”
I nodded. “Your mum spoils you. You’re very lucky.”
He slid the container of oranges onto the small table and took my hand. “I know how lucky I am. But honestly, this is more for you than me. Pretty sure if it was just me, I’d have gotten a Vegemite sandwich and an apple. Or maybe even told to get my own.”
But still... “I mentioned to her once that I liked her salad. And the Moroccan roast chicken she did. And she made them again for us today. One time I mentioned them, Tully. Just once. And she did that for me.”
He squeezed my hand and smiled. “She adores you, Jeremiah.”
I had to swallow back unexpected tears.
“Oh, baby.” He leaned over and rested his chin on my shoulder, softly kissing my cheek. “I’d say don’t get too cocky about it,” he joked. “Because she dotes on all her kids and their partners.” He threaded our fingers. “But she knows you grew up without a mum, so I think she dotes on you a bit more than the others.”
I nodded again, having to wipe away one foolish tear that had escaped. “My dad wouldn’t even know what my favourite food is.” I shook my head this time. “But that’s not his fault. Growing up, I didn’t really have a favourite. I was grateful for anything we had. Some things he cooked better than others, but I was still grateful. When I was old enough, I’d cook dinner for when he got home. Just simple things like mashed potato and sausages. He must have choked down some terrible cooking,” I said with a teary laugh. “But he never complained.”
Tully lifted our joined hands and kissed my knuckles. “What’s your favourite food now? Of all the things you could have, what would you wish for?”
I smiled at him. “Rice and beef, a la house specialty of the bunker.”
He laughed. “I’m being serious.”
“I am being serious.” I sighed and met his warm honey eyes. “Maybe it’s the memories that go with it. Meeting you, chasing storms, and falling in love. And you cooking that every night. They’re the best memories of my life.”
Tully stared at me, really stared. A slow and shy smile tugged at his lips. “You just said the L-word.”
I resisted groaning and I tried to pull my hand from his, but he gripped mine tighter. “No, no,” he said. “No take backs, no returns. You said it. Let me savour this moment forever.” He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, then exhaled loudly. “There. Officially savoured.”
I did roll my eyes that time. “Are you done?”
“Yep.” He let go of my hand, but he leaned in for a kiss and waited for me to meet him halfway. Which I did, of course, and he smiled. “Thank you. I love you, and if you want spiced beef and rice any time, you just have to ask.”
“I think I’d like it to be a bunker thing. Every time we go there, it can be our thing.”
“You wanna go back?”
“Of course I do! I loved it. I wish we could have stayed longer. Perhaps next time we can. Weather permitting, of course.”
He was practically buzzing with excitement, his eyes lit up, his grin wide. “Hell yes. Oh my god. I fucking love you. I love going to the bunker, and I love that you wanna go there with me.” Then he got a far-off look in his eye. “You know, I wonder if I could convince my dad to buy a helicopter. I could get my licence and I could fly us in for weekends and stuff, and we could go all the time and—”
“Absolutely not.”
“But then you wouldn’t have to go down the mountain in the Jeep.”
“Tully.”
“Yeah?”
“Let’s just eat lunch.”
He repacked everything back into the Esky, sans the bread rolls and a bottle of water each. We ate in silence for a while, but I could tell by the furrow of his brow and thinking-while-chewing face that he was still mulling over the helicopter thing. “A helicopter would make—”
“No.”
“But—”
“No buts. The Jeep is perfectly fine. More than fine. All discussions of helicopters are off the table.”
I’d never heard of anything so ridiculous.
