“I love you, Rachel. So, so much.” He grips me closer as a shudder passes through him. “I swear to you, we’re going to figure it out. Okay?”
“Okay. But for now…” I crane my neck to look up at him. “Just hold me?”
“Of course, baby.” And so he does, and for once, sleep comes easily.
I wake up to the spicy smell of Aloo Paratha wafting from downstairs blended with the scent of dark roast coffee. Before I open my eyes, I tap the other side of the bed, only to find it empty and cold.
Karan must hear me stir, calling out to me from downstairs with his rich baritone voice.
“I’m making you breakfast, love!”
I slip on one of Karan’s T-shirts, which comes right down to my mid-thighs. Before I make my way downstairs, I grab a fistful of fabric and sniff it to bury myself in his clean scent, if only for a moment.
Today won’t be easy. For a brief, magical evening, we were back to who we used to be. But we’ve got work to do now. There’sso much we still have left on the table—literally. We may have finished our soups, but we never finished our conversation.
I can only hope that we find a middle ground. After last night, I don’t think I can envision myself losing Karan again. The distance I’ve built between us in my mind, to prepare myself for what I believed was inevitable…
I want to take it back. Obliterate it.
That thought only becomes stronger when I make my way downstairs and see my husband wearing only grey sweatpants, his black hair loose from its usual bun as he toils in front of the stove. A slight sheen coats his dark skin from the heat, and I want nothing more than to get as close as I can to him.
So I do.
I press myself against his side and sigh when he wraps one arm around me, keeping his other hand on the handle of the pan. He presses his lips on my forehead.
“I haven’t seen you sleep so peacefully in a long time,” Karan says with a wistful smile.
“Yeah, well, I haven’t slept that well in a long time.”
“Hungry?”
“Starving.” I inhale deeply, my mouth watering at the delectable scents coming from the Aloo. “Thank you for once again feeding me.”
“You’ve kept me fed for the last six months at least, without me deigning to show up on time for dinner, so this hardly makes up for it.” Karan’s thumb draws lazy circles on my lower back. “You should keep this shirt. It looks much better on you than it does on me.”
“I can’t keep it! That defeats the whole purpose. It needs to smell like you.”
“Then we’ll share it. When you give it back, it’ll smell like you.”
“We will need to wash it at some point, though.”
“Boo.”
I pull myself away from Karan to let him finish up the Aloo and go pour myself a cup of coffee, then take a seat at the table. As I wait for Karan to serve us, I peer through the large windows to admire the sprawling mountain view.
It’s no longer snowing, the sun now reflecting across the white-coated surfaces in its full glory. It’s one of those days when you come back indoors and can hardly see anything until your eyes get adjusted again.
We eat in a comfortable silence, although a slight tension permeates the air. We both know what’s coming once we’re done with Karan’s delicious breakfast. I take my time, savouring every bite, sipping my coffee slowly in between mouthfuls of food to drag out this meal a little longer.
All too soon, my plate is empty. Karan stands and takes both our plates, and when our gazes meet, his smile is bittersweet.
“Thanks,” I whisper, holding on to my cup of coffee for liquid courage.
Karan drops the dishes in the sink, comes back to his seat at the table, and clasps his hands together, elbows resting on the mahogany surface.
“Okay.” He takes a deep breath. “Let’s lay it all on the table, Rachel. You start, and I’ll listen.”
My entire body is a pincushion, needles sticking me from every direction and numbing my skin. My tongue feels too big for my mouth.
