The fireplace in the living room filled the house with warmth, candlelight flickering across the mantel, the windowsills, the coffee table. Just Caleb being practical. But it felt like a dream anyway.
I followed him to the kitchen where water was already boiling on the gas stove. He moved with quiet efficiency, reaching for a cutting board, a knife, tomatoes and garlic.
"Can I help?" I asked.
"Just keep me company."
I leaned against the counter, watching his hands. Scarred from years of work, callused, but impossibly careful as he diced tomatoes and minced garlic. He didn't waste a single motion.
"Long day?" he asked.
"Three emergencies before noon. Golden retriever ate a sock."
"She make it?"
"She'll be fine. Owner cried the whole time."
He smiled slightly. Added olive oil to a pan, let it heat. "Sounds about right."
The garlic hit the oil and the whole kitchen filled with the smell of it. He added the tomatoes, a pinch of salt. Stirred twice, then the pasta went into the water.
"How was yours?" I asked.
"Finished the trim in the living room. Started on the floors. Making progress." He glanced at me. "Wasn't planning on candlelit dinner, though."
"I'm not complaining."
Something passed between us. Just a look, and yet… I felt it, like something solid and warm, wrapping itself around my heart.
We ate on the floor by the fireplace, plates balanced on our knees, the dogs sprawled between us in a heap of paws and fur. The rain hammered the windows while the fire crackled and popped. I couldn't remember the last time silence had felt this easy.
"This is really good," I said.
"It's just pasta."
"It's not just pasta."
He looked at me, holding my gaze for a beat longer than necessary. "Glad you like it."
I set my plate aside. The fire threw shadows across his face, softened the sharp angles. Made him look younger somehow.
"Can I ask you something?" he said.
"Sure."
"That day at the clinic." He looked at the fire, then back at me. "When you told me I could just ask you for coffee."
I smiled. "After you brought Scout in for the third time in two weeks?"
"The ear infection was real."
"I know it was." I smiled, then let out a soft laugh. "But you also brought Scout in once because he’d sneezed three times."
"Why'd you say it, though?" Caleb asked. "That I could ask you for coffee. You could’ve just…" He shrugged.
"I wanted you to ask."
He held my gaze, not saying anything. His chest rose and fell, our shadows playing in the back of the living room.
