Page 38

I didn’t know how much time had passed or how many videos I had watched on my phone when the opening of the bedroom door startled me.

With tired eyes, I watched as Ruben kicked off his boots, placed a bowl on the table, and fished a spoon and a bowl out of his jacket pocket.

“Oh. You’re awake.”

I stretched and eyed him wearily. “Yep. Just lazy.”

Ruben smiled. “I wasn’t sure if you were giving yourself the same treatment you gave me. Out in the woods and stuff.”

His gesture made me laugh. “No. No more outside and stuff for me today.”

“Good.” Ruben hung up his jacket and pointed indecisively at the table. “I brought you something.”

I swung my legs over the bed and went to the table. “What is it?”

Ruben pulled a white cloth out of his bag, laid it on the table, placed the spoon on top, put the bowl down and opened the lid of the bowl.

“My mother’s feel-good soup.”

He didn’t lift his head, but with red cheeks, he arranged the bowl, spoon, and napkin on the table.

The conversation with my brother popped into my head. Ask him!

The aroma of the soup wafted up to my nose. It smelled of hearty broth, tomatoes, and herbs. I peeked into the bowl and finally Ruben looked up.

“Do you want some?”

I nodded, and my stomach growled loudly. “No one can resist that smell.”

“I was hoping so. I wasn’t sure if you’d still be here or if you were hungry.”

I quickly grabbed his hand and squeezed it briefly. “This was the best idea ever.”

Ruben scanned the room and then shook his head. “Now I’ve forgotten a ladle.”

He immediately set about spooning the soup into the bowl with a tablespoon.

“Damn,” he muttered to himself. “It’ll be ice-cold by the time I’m done.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

When he was finally satisfied, I was allowed to dig in, and he sat next to me. He watched me with eagle eyes.

The first spoonful was an explosion of flavor. “Wow! That’s what I call feel-good!”

Ruben waved his hand dismissively. “Oh, I took some vegetable stock from the kitchen. It’s better quality than my mother’s store-bought stuff, but it doesn’t taste quite right. I’m not sure. It’s okay. But . . . ”

I quickly raised my hand to put it on his shoulder, but I stroked his cheek with my fingertips instead, moving down his neck.

Ruben fell completely silent under my fingers and held his breath. I slowly pulled my arm back and finally let my hand rest on his forearm.

“It’s incredibly delicious. And I can’t thank you enough for doing all this work. For me.”

Ruben shrugged. “It’s no big deal. You seemed lost. And whenever I wasn’t feeling good as a kid, my mom would make this soup. She’s not a great cook. But she put much love into it that it always helped me somehow. I mean, soup can’t solve problems, but it makes you feel good, it fills you up and calms you down somehow.” He let his gaze rest on my hand on his arm. “I think,” he added.

“It does. The fact that you went out of your way to cook it for me makes it special. And I can’t imagine how your mom made it, but to me it’s perfect. It’s fruity and salty and I don’t know, there’s something delicious in there.”

Ruben laughed. “It’s probably something in the vegetable stock that I didn’t add.”