The contents of the spoon were steaming hot, so Morgan blew on the spoon and then held it out once more.
It was a small moment, so small that Jack didn’t know what to do with it. He took the spoon in his mouth and tasted the amazing sauce, tart and salty and a little bit sweet. If this was truly the only meal Morgan knew how to cook, Jack wasn’t going to complain.
He swallowed. All the while, Morgan watched him. They were close enough that Jack could feel Morgan’s breath on his cheek.
“How is it?” Morgan asked. He still held the spoon in the air, as if he didn’t want to break the little spell that had drawn them so close.
Jack didn’t want to break it, either, but he didn’t know how to sustain it, to keep it there between them, wavering like a ribbon moved by a warm wind.
It had to break and did when Morgan stepped back a little. Jack sighed on the inside.
“Good. Let’s eat it now.” He smiled as he licked his lips.
“It needs ten more minutes,” Morgan said. “Long enough for the garlic bread to toast properly.”
“Aw, jeez,” Jack said, mock-moaning and rubbing his belly like he was starving.
With a flick of eyelashes, Morgan seemed to look Jack up and down, and then he returned to his cooking.
Jack made himself useful by setting the table. The scene became utterly too domestic when they finally sat down and ate piles of pasta in the warm kitchen while the wind picked up even more, and the panes shook, and there was a moaning sound as the storm made its way beneath the rafters.
“Looks like I’m going to have to replace all the windows,” Morgan muttered, but he didn’t say anything more about it, as he normally would have. As if he didn’t want to take away from the meal.
When the pasta had been demolished, they dug into the rhubarb crumble, which was delicious. Then Morgan did the dishes while Jack put the leftovers away and went into the parlor to build up the fire, to ward off the chill and the odd noises from outside that sounded like the members of a men’s chorus were shrieking in unison.
Jack sat cross-legged on the futon, which was big enough that he’d had to move the coffee table to one side, and basked in the warmth of the flames. Which meant that when Morgan came in, blue robe swirling around him, he couldn’t get over to the easy chair and had to sit on the couch, near Jack.
“It’s bigger than I thought.” Morgan’s voice was low, his eyes on the futon and then the fire as he set his cane to one side. “But it looks comfy.”
“The couch is too soft,” Jack said. “This is perfect.”
Morgan picked up one of the books from the coffee table and peered at the text on the back.
“What’s that?” Jack asked.
“Something about a midwife in Maine in the 1700s solving a murder.”
“Sounds dreamy,” Jack said with a laugh. “Not something I’d’ve thought an old lady would read.”
“Here’s another one,” Morgan said, “about a woman delivering books to the Kentucky wilderness.”
Jack nodded and looked at the fire and thought about Star, who loved to read and who seemed to always have a book, well-thumbed and ratty, that he’d gotten from somewhere. Who might read aloud from time to time if the light was good and the noise of the train wasn’t too overwhelming.
He missed moments like that, when they’d gotten lucky enough to find an open boxcar in bad weather. They’d build a fire in a metal coffee can or bucket, and they’d huddle around it, swaying to the rhythm of the train. Shoulders brushing, creatinga small bubble of warmth around themselves, the comfort of someone familiar nearby.
Those had been Jack’s favorite times, even when Star’s voice had gone still because he’d fallen asleep sitting up, his head a slack, heavy weight on Blue’s shoulder, the gold-and-blue flames reflecting on his skin and shining on his dark copper hair.
Well, those days were gone, and now here he was in front of a different kind of fire, in a cozy room, with a handsome man behind him idly flicking through the books in the stack.
“There’s a library book here.” Morgan tsk-tsked. “It’s from the library in Billings, and it’s six weeks overdue.”
“When did she die?” Jack asked, not turning from his study of the flames.
“A little over two weeks ago,” Morgan said. “She was in the hospital for almost a month, I think.” He sighed. “I guess I’ll need to go to Billings and return it.” It sounded like he lifted his head before saying, “We can get you warmer clothes then.”
“Don’t need more clothes.” Jack wanted to turn the lights off and curl in front of the stove like a wild dog who had finally found shelter.
“You need new boots, at a minimum,” Morgan said. “If you’re doing errands for me, it’s the least I can do.”
