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“Jeffrey,” I breathe, my voice barely audible.
“I’ve missed you so much all these years. More than you can imagine.”
His hand reaches across the table, capturing mine. Our fingers intertwine, sending shivers to cover my body. The intensity of the moment holds us, the outside world fading.
As our gazes lock, his thumb caressing my knuckles, as the air crackles with an unspoken desire. The silence speaks volumes, conveying emotions that words cannot express.
And then, with a barely audible whisper, he utters the words that make my heart soar.
“Phebe, let’s enjoy this moment. Tonight, it’s just us.”
Tears well up in my eyes, blurring the soft glow of the candles. The weight of the years lifts off my shoulders as I lean closer to Jeffrey.
“Just us,” I whisper in response.
Surprisingly, the weather isn’t as chilly as I anticipated. I find myself captivated by Jeffrey’s presence; gazing at him feels endlessly satisfying. Suddenly, a man in uniform approaches our table with a cart. I don’t recognize him, so I wonder who he might be.
“Good evening, ma’am. Here is your meal,” the man says as he sets several dishes on our table. There is an unspoken connection between Jeffrey and the man, as if they share an inside joke without saying a word.
“Good evening,” I reply. The man nods and leaves.
“His name is Chef Andrea,” Jeffrey explains. I frown; the name sounds vaguely familiar.
“His name sounds familiar,” I mutter.
“That’s because he is quite popular. He is the owner of Enzo’s,” Jeffrey says, stunning me. Enzo happens to be one of the world’s top chefs. Actually, I don’t anyone can match the number of records he’s broken with his cooking skills.
“What? How?” I gasp, watching the renowned chef walk away.
“Let’s just say Andrea is an old friend. He owes me a favor, and it’s time for me to cash in on it. He was excited, wearing his familiar boyish smirk that I adore.
“Oh, this is unbelievable,” I whisper.
“No, it’s not. Let’s enjoy our meal before it gets cold,” Jeffrey declares. With each minute passes, all my inhibitions fall away. I can’t help but smile at the sight of a steaming lasagna dish in front of me. My heart flutters as I turn to Jeffrey, and we share a nostalgic moment, locking eyes.
“You remembered,” I say softly, a hint of surprise in my voice.
Jeffrey grins, that same boyish grin I remember from years ago.
“How could I forget? Lasagna was always our favorite.” I chuckle, shaking my head.
“I like lasagna, but you loved it. It wasn’t hard for it to become my favorite.”
He nods, his eyes twinkling with amusement.
“You used to ask the housekeeper to make it almost every night, just so I could eat it.”
A fond memory rushes back, of how I used to sneak into the kitchen, persuading the housekeeper to whip up lasagna before secretly bringing some to Jeffrey.
“I didn’t want you to go hungry,” I confess with a playful shrug.
Jeffrey laughs, a warm sound that fills my heart.
“You were always looking out for me, even when you didn’t have to. I remember that one time you filled your father’s socks with beetles, knowing how much he hated them just because he told the housekeeper not to listen to you anymore.”
His voice trails off, and I can practically hear the unspoken memory that dances in his eyes.
“Oh, come on,” I tease, prodding him gently.
