And yet…
He understands me. He keeps up with my jokes.
He cares. About me. A thousand butterflies take flight in my belly, their wings made of heat and song and light. I have to look away, my gaze skipping around the kitchen. Anywhere but at him.
“I saw this place,” I say quietly. “In the future.”
It takes him a moment, then he asks incredulously, “This kitchen?”
I angle my head, peering through the door to make sure we’re still alone—and shouldn’t people be back by now? Our solitude manages to be cause for both relief and agitation.
I nod. “This one exactly.”
His attention finally strays from me as he looks around, brows furrowed, trying to see the room as I do.
I realize I want to share this. Need to. “It’s so weird. In the future, the walls are mostly crumbled, but it’s the same building with the exact same outline. I thought the ruins would give me an idea what to expect, but it’s way different than I imagined.”
“Different how?” He’s engrossed, and it puts me at ease.
“For one thing, it’s bigger than I thoughtit’d be, and I haven’t even been upstairs yet.” I shudder. “That tiny spiral staircase freaks me out. Like, why do the steps have to be so teensy?”
“Or your feet so large?” he muses, without missing a beat.
This time, I’m the one who bursts out with a laugh. A real one. Callum greets it with the hugest smile I’ve ever seen.
The way he’s riveted to me, it’s like I’m the only girl in the world.
I thought this chatting was putting me at ease, but I’m suddenly more self-aware than ever. “So yeah,” I mutter. “It’s bigger from the outside but more cramped on the inside. Plus, it’s darker. And smokier.” I wave a hand as if there were actual smoke hanging between us instead of this massive tension. “The kitchen is smokier than I thought a place could be, and I’ve dropped Poppa for Veterans’ Night at the Rotary Lodge, so you know, I’ve experienced smoke…” I trail off.
Because Callum is studying me with amazement. “The things you’ve seen. I can’t get my head around it. Tell me, Rosie. What’s it like?”
“What’s what like?”
“Your home.” He gives me a playful look, like I’m a dummy, and my self-consciousness loosens just a little.
“It’s completely different.” I shrug. “I don’t know how I’d begin to explain.”
“Begin with one thing. What’s one thing you miss?”
One thing.
I miss Poppa, the farm. But those aren’t things.
They have books in this century, and music too, so I could seek out that stuff if I really wanted. I can live withoutsocial media and email. There are no roads here, so I don’t need a car. Central heating is nice, but once the fire gets going, the cottage gets almost too hot.
So what do I miss most?
I do miss food. And cooking. The rhythm of it. The control. The comfort.
“Our kitchen,” I say, realizing how true it is.
“Your kitchen?” He looks around in disbelief. “Was it no’ like this?”
I laugh. “No.” Seeing his confusion, I explain, “We have things that make cooking so much easier. And food safer. Like refrigerators. They’re these big boxes that keep things cold, or even frozen. Like milk—well, they don’t freeze milk, that’d be ice cream, which I also miss—but what I could really use is a big glass of cold chocolate milk. Don’t get me wrong, I’m okay with warm milk. You can’t grow up around cows without getting a taste for it. But warm cheese? Oh, Callum. That room-temperature cheese you all eat is just…” I shiver.
He gets up and wanders a circle around the room, studying it like he’s suddenly seeing it through my eyes. Pausing before the fire, he says, “But fire is fire. ’Tis the same as ever, surely.”
“Yeah, but in the future, ovens turn on with the flick of a button. We have a gas range—just twist a knob and flames appear instantly. Plus microwaves. That’s a box that makes food hot in seconds.”
