Page 62 of Stuck with my Guarded MVP
“Right. Yes. Let’s not sever anything on lesson one.”
She didn’t seem to notice the pause. Or maybe she did and chalked it up to something else.
I didn’t say anything. I couldn’t. I just handed her the cutting board and pointed to the shallots, hoping she wouldn’t hear whatever was happening in my chest.
I dropped the chopped shallots into the pan, listening for the faint sizzle that told me the temperature was right. Claire was standing off to the side now, arms crossed, watching like she wasn’t sure if she was done or still needed instruction.
I stirred, let the rice toast just a moment longer, then added the stock and gave it a swirl.
“Want to taste?” I asked, lifting the wooden spoon toward her.
She hesitated. “Is it safe?”
I laughed. “You’re not allergic to butter, shallots, or garlic, right?”
She leaned forward, lips parting slightly as I offered her a taste. One side of the spoon.
She licked her bottom lip. “It’s good. But… it’s missing something.”
I tasted from the other side of the spoon.
“You’re right,” I said. “It needs a little more brightness.” I reached for the lemon and zested just enough into the pan.
Claire tilted her head. “That’s it. That’s what it needed.”
“Lesson two,” I said. “Always trust your palate.”
Claire set the dining room table. I finished plating the risotto. She arranged the place settings the same way I had before, side by side, not across from each other.
I brought over the bowls, set them down, then lit two candles. She didn’t comment, but I caught the slight tilt of her head as she watched the flame catch.
We sat down, next to each other, to eat.
She smiled and held up her fork. “I will say… it was kind of nice nuking dinner in a judgment-free zone.”
I leaned against the table, pretending to study her expression. Really, I just like looking at her.
She held her fork up to me. “But I did miss this.”
Did she mean more than the food?
I didn’t ask. Just sat and watched her take the first bite. She made that little approving noise that always got me, like good food surprised her every time.
For a while, we just ate. Talked about nothing. I told her about Chappy nearly missing the bus because he’d lost a shoe. Shemade a face when I told her how much protein powder rookies consume now. It felt… easy. Familiar.
She grew quiet for a moment, eyes drifting toward the bookshelf, but not really seeing it. Her expression softened—somewhere between thoughtful and faraway.
“What?” I asked.
She blinked, like I’d pulled her out of a dream. “Nothing. Just…” She looked back at me, then hesitated. “There’s a photo in your hallway. I noticed it the other day.”
I didn’t move.
“You were in it.” Claire set her fork down. “With a young woman. Who sort of looked like a younger version of me.”
Not this. Please not this.
The room shifted. Just slightly. The candle flickered, or maybe I imagined it.
