His bear perked up.A table. That’s what you need. A table and candles. Make it feel like a romantic dinner for two.
Spencer looked around the kitchen, then through to the sitting room where they had just finished working. “Give me ten minutes,” he said.
Meryl turned, pasta box in hand. “To do what?”
“Keep cooking. I’ll be right back.”
He went through to the sitting room and uncovered the old drop-leaf table he’d moved to one side the first day he was here. It was still covered in a dust sheet, which was now covered in paint tins.
After removing all the tins, he pulled off the sheet to reveal a table that had certainly seen better days. It was small, scarred, and a little wobbly on one leg, but it was sound enough. He tightened what he could, wedged the weak side with a folded scrap of wood from the pile by the wall, carried it into the kitchen, and wiped it down. Then he fetched two of the sturdier chairs and set them by it. They didn’t match, but it didn’t matter.
Meryl paused in the middle of chopping the pepper and stared at him. “This is going to feel like my first proper meal in the cottage. With my first proper guest.”
“I am honored,” he said with a mock bow.
While she went back to preparing the food, he found two clean plates in the cupboard, along with mismatched forks, andset them out. Then he grabbed a pair of pillar candles Meryl had been using to light the sitting room.
“What are you doing now?” Meryl asked as he came in.
Spencer held up the candles. “The light in here isn’t great.”
Her eyebrow lifted. “Candles.”
“Practical candles,” he said. “So we can see the food.”
That got a laugh out of her.
He set the candles in two empty mason jars he found at the back of a cupboard and lit them. The difference was immediate. The kitchen did not become elegant, exactly, but it no longer looked like a half-abandoned work zone. It looked like a place where two people might sit down for dinner.
Dinner date,his bear corrected.
It does feel like a date,Spencer admitted.
Meryl looked around, then back at him. “That is... nice.”
Spencer shrugged because he didn’t trust himself to speak.
She likes it,his bear said happily, wishing he was invited to dinner too.
“This is not exactly sophisticated,” Meryl said as she stirred the pasta and cheese together with the pepper and garlic she had found at the bottom of the cooler.
“I’m not expecting sophisticated.”
“You say that now.”
“I’m a simple man.”
His bear disagreed strongly.
Meryl glanced over her shoulder. “No, I think what you are is optimistic.”
“That too.” He looked around. “Anything I can help with?”
She smiled to herself and handed him the bread knife. “Cut the bread up.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Her head came up at once. “I am not old enough to be ma’am.”
