"I didn't ask for soup," I replied.
"It's typical, the soup," she continued. "Everyone thinks chicken soup is the best remedy. But that wasn't my upbringing."
I shook my head. "Can't be. Not when there's"—I took the spoon from her, stirred the contents—"this."
"Spicy peppers, roasted garlic, and red sauce. And some spicy sausage," she said. "My father's family on his mother's side is Sicilian and they're big believers in peppers and garlic. His father's side is from northern Italy but they also believe a big bowl of spicy peppers will cure anything that ails you. My grandmother on my mom's side, she tried to adapt this and give it apollo guisadotwist. That was one of her mother's recipes and she went to her grave angry that she'd never perfected it." Stella slipped a pair of mitts over her hands and opened the oven. "I baked some warm bread too. No messy story about grandmothers and Sicilians or northern Italians, just some dough I picked up from the North End. It's good for sopping up the sauce."
If I didn't know I was in love before this point, I knew it now.
"You made this," I said, glancing around at the utensils and cutting boards on the counter, the dishes in the sink, the homemade bread coming out of my damn oven. "You did all this. You cooked for me."
Stella turned to set the bread on a rack. "Didn't think I had it in me, huh?"
I didn't see her expression as she spoke the words but I tasted the bitter bite in them. "No, I don't doubt you at all. You have everything inside you."
"Go sit down," she said, glancing at me as she shucked the mitts. "You're gray and clammy, and now is not the time to bathe me in compliments. I'll bring a bowl over—"
"And some bread, please," I said.
She pressed her hand to my chest, nudging me toward the sofa. "A little bit of everything," she said.
"Will you stay? We can watch the game," I said, giving zero fucks about how pathetic I sounded. "I'll sit on the other side of the room and breathe away from you."
"Go sit down," she repeated. "Listen to me, Cal. I'm not putting up with your rumbly-grumbly sweaty pine tree thing tonight and I'm pretty sure I can knock you over with a light push."
I coughed for a solid minute. Motherfucking Stremmel. He wasn't going to hear the end of this. "Your point?"
She blew out a breath, sending the loose hairs around her face flying. "I don't remember," she said, tossing up her hands. "But I did tell you to sit down."
"You also said something about sweating trees," I added. "Right? Did I imagine that?"
"It's an inside joke," she answered, turning back to the stove.
"And here I was, thinking I'd been inside you," I replied.
Stella dropped the spoon to the countertop as she backed away and bent at the waist, shaking with laughter. She wrapped her arm around her middle and wiped tears from her cheeks with her free hand. "I'll give you that one, Cal. I'll give it to you," she said. "But if you don't get your ass out of this kitchen in the next five seconds, I'm going to walk this pot of sausage and peppers upstairs to Stremmel. The bread too. Is that what you want?"
I took a big step back, effectively leaving the small kitchen. "No, ma'am," I replied. "I don't want you sharing any sausage with Stremmel."
"How do you do this?" she asked, her gaze trained on the sauce in front of her. "You're dying of the flu but also throwing out obscene comments like you're angling to take a bite out of my ass tonight."
"Not dying," I said through a cough. "Nah. I'm fine. Probably shouldn't eat your ass for a few days."
"Sit," she barked, holding back a laugh.
As I flopped down on the sofa, I heard her chuckle in the kitchen. It was a tiny, tiny moment. A single heartbeat. But it was the best thing I'd experienced in a long time. Me, sick and pathetic while the most beautiful, talented, generous woman in the world made spicy peppers and bread. The best.
It wasn't the domesticity of it. It wasn't about her cooking or caring for me.
It was the attachment. The one we shared.
Stella handed me a bowl. "Only because it's shaping up to be a good game and I'm starving," she said. "But if you get me sick, I'll send the raccoon after you."
"The caffeine junkie? Nah, he's my pal."
"I'm sure he is," she replied. "He's everyone's friend except mine."
"What about the beaver?"
