‘Hey, you were the one who insisted on always cooking. Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten how you used to sing and dance around the kitchen as you cooked, as though it was your personal dancefloor, flapping me with a tea towel if I tried tohelp, telling me you werein the zone. It was just a bonus that your food always tasted so amazing. Or maybe food just tastes better when someone else cooks it.’
She pictures him sniffing the air, eyes closing slightly in appreciation.
‘This smells amazing, though, Mouse.’
Even though, deep down, she knows the voice is just inside her head, she still flinches at the sound of his old nickname for her. No one has called her Mouse in what feels like a very long time.
‘And you didn’t need to get the fire extinguisher out even once,’ she imagines him adding.
‘Itdoessmell pretty great, doesn’t it?’
After giving it a moment to cool down she sinks her fork into the dish, cracking through the crunchy, cheesy topping and scooping up a hearty portion of the creamy pasta, strings of melted Gruyère dripping down as she pulls the fork towards her mouth.
Her eyes close in pleasure as she takes a bite of absolute comfort, the taste bringing back a memory – as suddenly and as vividly as if it weren’t four years ago – and Joe is humming tunelessly, a wooden spoon held in his hand as he stirs the sauce.
That particular night, they are due to go out for the fourth night in a row. To go axe throwing, of all things, for Joe’s friend Leo’s birthday. Joe gets his energy from being around other people and doesn’t always understand Tilly’s need for a quiet evening in with a book, where she doesn’t have to speak to anyone.
It has been a long day at work, brainstorming ideas for amemoir that is being pushed through quickly to coincide with a sex scandal that has just broken. Despite wanting nothing more than to change into her PJs and flop into bed, Tilly doesn’t want to disappoint Joe. She is just wondering whether he’d mind going on his own when she steps into the living room to find the furniture entirely rearranged. The coffee table and dining table are pushed back against the wall, the sofa turned around and draped with blankets that fall to the floor, weighted down by cushions. The lights are dimmed, the fairy lights around the bookshelves glowing cosily.
Joe is in the kitchen but he turns around at the sound of Tilly approaching.
‘What’s all this?’ she asks, struggling to find her voice. ‘Shouldn’t we be leaving soon?’
Something smells delicious, the room filled with the aroma of butter and cheese. She steps behind him, wrapping her arms around his waist, taking a breath of the familiar cedarwood of his cologne and the jasmine scent of their shared washing detergent as she snuggles her chin into his shoulder.
‘I thought we could have a cosy evening in tonight instead,’ he replies, placing the wooden spoon on the side of the pan and turning around so he is facing her, his hands on her hips. He has already changed out of his work suit and is in what Tilly always thinks of as his ‘true’ uniform – shorts and a T-shirt that skims over the solid muscles of his chest, the bare skin of his forearms covered in surprisingly soft blond hair.
He reaches to cup her cheek in his palm, her skin tingling at his touch every bit as much as it did when they first started dating. ‘I know you’ve been working hard on the Kelly Maynard project and this week has been full on with social stuff too. I called Leo and said we both had colds.’
‘You, Joseph Carter, are voluntarily choosing a night in over throwingaxes?’
Joe just shrugs. ‘If I really start feeling deprived I can get out the toolbox and have a go throwing a couple of spanners at a chopping board or something. And I’m not choosing a night in over throwing axes. I’m choosing a night in withyou, which is better than pretty much anything.’
She nudges her hips against his.
‘Even better than the crazy golf on Tuesday night with your workmates? Where you beat me catastrophically and did a victory dance?’
‘OK, thatwaspretty great.’ He grins, then tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, his expression more serious. ‘I know we do a lot of stuff with my friends, and I’m sorry if it’s been too much lately. I just like showing you off. I like you knowing the people in my life. But I know you need your down time too. And it’s nice to have you all to myself.’
She glances again at the rearranged furniture and piles of cushions. ‘Did you … build me a den?’
‘It’s not just any den! Look!’ He leads her to the makeshift fort and pulls back the corner of the blanket door. Inside is a stack of books, a reading lamp stood in the corner.
‘It’s a reading den. I know you’ve been feeling overwhelmed lately. I hope this might help.’
‘Is that a cheese board?’
‘For my little library mouse. To keep you going until dinner’s ready.’
‘This is amazing. I can’t believe you did this for me, Joe. Thank you.’ She pulls him towards her by the front of his T-shirt, leaning in for a kiss that starts soft and quickly grows heated, the thought of having him to herself for the night almost as delicious a prospect as whatever is simmering on the hob.
‘Maybe we can find some other uses for the den later,’ he says with a rough laugh, pulling away and planting a final kisson her forehead. ‘But for now, relax and read. I’m making macaroni cheese, does that sound OK? My mum’s was my ultimate comfort food as a kid. I’ve been craving it recently.’
‘That sounds perfect.’
Tucked away behind her fortress of pillows, she feels shielded from the rest of the world. But it is the perfect type of aloneness because, just behind the blankets, there he is.
Tilly puts down her bowl and fork now.
