For years, I couldn’t stand the smell of garlic and tomatoes.After my mother started slipping away, it only reminded me of everything I’d lost.Of laughter in a kitchen that no longer existed.
Not anymore.
Now it reminded me of our second chance.
To most, tonight would have seemed ordinary.Just a mother and daughter cooking dinner together.
To me, it felt monumental.
Like reclaiming something sacred I’d thought was gone forever.
We’d made lasagna from scratch, her guiding me through the steps the way she used to when I was a teenager.
There were still moments she got tired or lost her train of thought, but the doctor said that would fade as the drugs continued to work their way out of her system.
For now, he wanted her to rest when her body told her to.
So after we’d finished eating, I helped her up the stairs and into her bedroom.
When I came back down, the kitchen felt both too quiet and too loud, my thoughts immediately drifting to Henry.
Had he eaten dinner?Or was he still locked in his office, surrounded by a wall of screens and unanswered questions?
The image of him all alone in that big house tugged at my heartstrings.
I tried to ignore it.Told myself to finish cleaning and go to bed.That Henry was a grown man and could take care of himself.
But I couldn’t stop thinking about him.
Despite my better judgment, I spooned a few pieces of leftover lasagna into a glass container, sealed the lid tight, and grabbed a sweatshirt.
The air outside was cooler than I expected.Crisp.Clean.It carried the scent of pine and something faintly metallic, like rain on gravel.
The path to the main house wound through the garden, lined with solar lights that spilled a soft glow across the stone.
It wasn’t until I reached the back door that I considered it might be locked.But as I touched my hand to the knob, it gave way and I stepped inside.
The house was dark except for the dim under-cabinet lighting that bathed the kitchen in warm, golden tones.The only sounds came from the faint hum of the refrigerator and the steady tick of the clock on the wall.
I tiptoed to the fridge and was about to open the door when a movement flickered in the corner of my vision.
I turned and froze.
Henry stood in the doorway, his broad shoulders backlit by the hallway light.His sleeves were pushed up, revealing his strong forearm muscles.
For a heartbeat, neither of us said anything.Then I lifted the container with a small, awkward gesture.
“I didn’t know if you’d eaten.I, uh, brought you some leftovers.We made lasagna.”
He stepped closer, the movement unhurried but deliberate.When he reached for the container, his fingers brushed mine.It was just a graze, but it ignited a spark inside me.
“Thanks.”
No smile.No follow-up.Just a single word, hanging in the space between us.
Since he didn’t seem interested in talking, I turned to head back to the guesthouse.
“How have you settled in?”his voice cut through.
