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But to be honest, isn’t that the same for all of us?
As embarrassing as it was, having someone care about me while they are sitting beside me in the same room was a nice change today as I woke from the nightmare. Rather than on the other end of a FaceTime call where the compassion lasts a few minutes and then he moves on to telling me about his day. Or better still, telling me what event I need to be prepared for and to make sure I have an outfit ready. I learned not to bother telling him anything about my day after a while. It’s funny how you don’t even notice those things when you are in the middle of it, but the moment you step away from a situation, it becomes as clear as day.
Shaking my head, I need to stop thinking about Jason. He’s a dick, and if I’m lucky, I will never have to be in the same room with him again.
I come back to my thoughts about feeding Ghost. In the few brief moments I’ve seen him today, he is more than double the man my ex will ever be.
“Let’s see what’s in the cupboards.” Opening the pantry, I’m shocked with how much food is in here. Stupidly it makes me happy and sad at the same time. They must be expecting me to be here for a long time. Either that or they think Ghost has a mighty appetite.
I decide to pull together an easy pasta for tonight, which will give plenty for Ghost to eat, and I can just have a small plate and put aside the leftovers for later. It will take me a little while to find everything in this kitchen, but at least it seems to be well stocked with all the basic cooking equipment I need.
I didn’t realize how much I needed to be doing something so normal. I do love to cook, but it was wasted living with Jason. He was never home, and when he was, he would want to go out for dinner, which I’m convinced was so that people would see him in certain popular restaurants or so he could coincidentally run into another diner in the room. If on the rare occasion we got to stay home, he would insist we order in a takeout meal. The only time I really cooked was for myself. Part of the enjoyment of cooking, though, is preparing it for someone else to enjoy and then sitting down and appreciating it with a small glass of wine. Not sure if the wine will be an option here, but at least Ghost might appreciate my cooking.
The aroma of the bacon and onion frying must have been enough to lure him out of his cave, as I can hear the door opening and the footsteps of his boots coming behind me.
“Smells good, but I thought I was supposed to be the chef.”
I look over my shoulder at him placing himself down on the other side of the kitchen counter.
“I like to cook. Plus, it gives me something to do to push away the thoughts,” I say, turning back to check the pasta boiling in the pot and stirring the frying pan contents that are sizzling away.
“Fair enough.”
A silence descends on the room for a few minutes as I continue with what I’m doing. Then his deep voice breaks the awkward pause.
“Can I help with anything? I’m not used to sitting idle either.”
Smiling to myself, with my back still to him, I say, “I can imagine that about you.”
His laughter breaks out behind me. “What’s that supposed to mean?” I hear the scraping of the stool as he stands and now approaches me. My heart rate kicks up a little. Coming to a stop and leaning his ass against the counter next to where I’m working, he crosses his feet and his arms while he casually makes himself comfortable.
“It just means that you look like you have a lot going on in that head, and I’m sure you are used to constantly moving, with a job like yours, and making sure everything is perfect. You strike me as a perfectionist.”
The pasta chooses this moment to boil over slightly, and I adjust the lid so it settles again.
“You don’t even know me.” Ghost's reply is not harsh or accusing, just merely stating a fact.
“True, I’m just stating what I see, which could be totally wrong.”
“I could say you’re wrong… but I’d be lying.” His arms drop down, hands loosely resting on either side of him, hanging onto the countertop.
I'm almost scared to ask, but I’m going to anyway. “So, what about me? How do you sum me up?” I look up from what I’m doing after adding the tomato sauce to the pan, now sizzling away as dinner starts to take shape. “Wait, you probably already have that many notes on me, you have an unfair advantage.”
The smile that edges the corners of his mouth up on either side does something funny to my stomach.
“Not those sorts of notes. We don’t just download your whole personality onto paper. What I have is rather boring, really. Like you, I must work out the rest in the good old-fashioned way.”
“And how’s that, exactly?” Stepping away from the stovetop for a moment, I grab some plates out of the cupboard, needing to keep myself busy.
“Talking.”
“What?” I say a little louder than I meant to.
“I know, it’s shocking, isn’t it.”
“No, not that, silly. There’s wine.”
My heart is singing at the sight of several bottles of both red and white in the bottom of the cupboard I just pulled open to look for a strainer for the pasta.
