Page 105 of For the Love of the Gods

I walked in, expecting to see her at the stove, with that little red apron she always wore, bathed in light. Maybe even a glass of wine next to her.

Instead, I found her standing in the near dark, lazily stirring something in a large pot with a book in her other hand.

My presence registered soon after I walked through the door.

Rose’s back straightened and her eyes shot to the intruder, then softened into a glowing green when she realized it was me.

She looked relieved to see me.Relieved. Not locking up in fear, but a deep breath out in my presence. I wasn’t sure I deserved the weight of her relief. It sat in my hands, destroying my world and building it back up in her image.

“Oh, hi!” she said, immediately marking and setting aside her book.

“Why are you in the dark?” I asked, taking a step closer to her after flipping on a soft lamp.

Rose tucked her hair behind her ear, twisted my ring around her finger. “You stir this thing a ton and I got caught up and didn’t realize the sun set. I was just about to turn on the light.”

I took another step closer and got a whiff of what she was making. It smelled buttery and salty and incredibly familiar. It smelled an awful lot like mushroom risotto.

“Rose, what did you make?” I asked, my voice scrapping out, sounding hollow and harsh to match how quickly my stomach had dropped.

Rose blushed to her hairline, the color of her cheeks darkening even in the dim light. “I didn’t know if this was too much or completely weird, but I just figured it would be nice. I don’t know, I always make soup on the day my mom died and it helps a little and I just thought that it might help you.”

I stared at her like the lovestruck fool I was.

“I’m sorry. I know it’s not her recipe, but this is still good."

I stayed silent. Had to.

Rose continued. "Fuck, I’m sorry, this is totally out of line. Please, ignore me.”

My chest was caving in, hollowing out.

Rose looked at me, searching my face for any sign of life, but I was too far gone. Breaking my stare, she muttered, “Fucking fig jam,” under her breath before standing up straighter and starting again. “Seriously, you don’t have to—”

I shut her up with my lips, kissing her so hard we would both bruise. It was all I could do to fight the tightness in my throat. Rose was stiff at first, her rambling winding her up, but she eventually relaxed and twisted her hand in my t-shirt, melting into me.

It was a short kiss, shorter than I preferred with her, but I didn’t want the risotto to get cold. I kept my forehead pressed against hers and said, “Thank you.”

“It’s okay?” she asked, eyes shining.

“Yes, sweetheart, it’s perfect.” I swiped a thumb across her cheek and dropped a peck on her mouth before releasing her.

“Oh. Okay, good,” Rose nodded to herself. “Sit, please.”

I didn’t listen to her. I planted my hands on her hips and turned her back toward the stove, but kept my chest pressed to her shoulders as she plated the risotto. Topped it with parmesan and a green herb.

I reached around her to pick up the plates when she was done, then let her lead me toward our dining room table. She picked two chairs that were next to each other with a view of the bay outside.

I dropped the plates and pulled out her chair. She sat and looked up at me expectantly. And I almost caved right then and there, but I resisted the urge to drop to my knees and beg for forgiveness. For now.

I made quick work of pouring us both a glass of wine and lighting a few candles before I sat down next to Rose with spoons in hand. Her body was turned toward me. It always was, I realized. Except when we were sitting like this, she normally had her legs draped over my thighs.

Needing the contact, especially today, I tucked my arm under her knees and lifted her legs. Rose moved easily, settling herself over me.

I brushed a hand down the side of Rose’s face, relishing in the feeling of her pressing her cheek into my palm.

Then I dug in. Not the first meal she had made specifically for me (a much needed energy boost at two in the morning had that honor) but the only one that put a lump in my throat. I grabbed and bite and ate it, catching Rose watching every move with her hands folded in her lap.

It was perfect. A little creamier than my mom’s but a taste of home regardless.

---