That breaks the spell. Lupo takes a bite of the pasta, and I watch his face, holding my breath.
He closes his eyes, chews slowly, and swallows.
"This is it," he says quietly. "This is exactly it. The pasta is delicious."
"You remember?"
"No. Not a specific memory. Just... a feeling. Like I've had this exact meal before. Many times." He looks at me, and there's something raw in his expression. "Thank you."
"You're welcome."
Elena is already covered in sauce, talking between bites about her day, the picture she drew, and how Lupo fixed the chicken coop door so the chickens can't escape anymore. He listens to her with complete attention, asks questions, and laughs at her stories.
I watch them together and something in my heart splinters.
This is what it could be like. This is what we could be together.
"Mama, this is the best pasta ever," Elena announces.
"I'm glad you like it, baby."
"Is Lupo going to eat with us every night now?"
I freeze. Lupo freezes. Elena just looks between us, innocent and hopeful.
"I don't know," I say finally. "Maybe sometimes."
"I think he should eat with us every night." She turns to Lupo. "Don't you want to?"
"I..." He looks at me, and there's a question in his eyes. Permission. An escape route if I want to give him one.
I should. I should make an excuse, keep the boundaries clear, protect myself from this.
But I don't.
"You're welcome to," I say quietly. "If you want to."
"I want to," he says, and the certainty in his voice makes my breath catch.
Elena cheers, and just like that, it's decided. Lupo will be eating dinner with us every night now.
We eat together, passing the bread and refilling glasses of water. Lupo compliments the meal twice more. Elena tells him about the cat she saw at the market. He tells her a story about something he can't even be sure is real, and it makes her giggle.
It feels normal. Safe. Right.
After dinner, Elena helps clear the table — mostly by carrying her own plate and feeling very accomplished — then I send her to get ready for bed.
"I'll be there in a minute to read to you," I promise.
She hugs Lupo goodnight, just wraps her little arms around his leg and squeezes, then runs off to her room.
Lupo and I are alone in the kitchen. The silence feels weighted, full of things we're not saying.
"Let me help clean up," he says, reaching for the dishes.
"You don't have to—"
"I want to. Please let me help you."
