Page 57 of This Love
“This sure is a lot of work.”
“It’s worth it.”
We peeled the tomatoes together, laughing at how slippery they were. The next time our hands collided in the bowl, her gaze snapped to mine. She wasn’t laughing now. Something had caught within her, and she was surprised at the feeling.
It was working. This was exactly how we used to be.
While the sauce cooked, I told her we should listen to some music.
“Yes!” Ava cried. “I found the music on my phone. Flo said my collection was ‘eclectic.’ I think she meant it as an insult.”
“We are all over the place.”
She pressed play, dancing around the room to Lizzo from the speaker on the phone. But we had a better setup than that. I moved to a shelf near the back door, where a Bluetooth speaker was plugged into the wall. When I powered it on, it automatically hooked into her phone, and the song poured from it, pure and loud.
“Yes!” Ava cried, waving her arms and turning in circles.
The music stayed upbeat for a few songs, then toned down. The smell of the sauce filled the space. We spun around the table for the fast songs, and finally, when a somber Taylor Swift ballad came on, Ava laid her arms on my shoulders. We moved together slowly through the kitchen.
She let everything come over her. The smells, the words, the ribbon of music winding its way through her senses.
“I like you, Tucker Giddings,” she said. “Cosmo said you were supposed to kiss me by the third date. This is like seven or eight.”
I did not waste any time. I drew her close against me, both my hands holding her head. I bent down and pressed my mouth to hers.
Sixth first kiss.
This part was the same. The fit of our lips. The tilt of her face. Her fingers gripped my shoulders. It was as though no time had passed since the last time I’d kissed her, since the morning of our wedding day.
She wasn’t tentative at all. There was no war in her head about things being too fast or too slow. She was completely in the moment, letting her body be her guide.
She pressed against me, chest to chest, hips to hips. I knew when she felt something different about me because she pulled back, her eyebrows lifted. “I read about that part. I have to make sure you know what’s in it for me.”
I laughed. So, maybe she did have a few things swirling in her head. “Ava, trust me, everything we do is all about you.”
“I’m supposed to play hard to get, at least a little.” She pushed on my chest to separate us. “What happens next with lasagna?”
I led her back to the stove to start the water for the noodles.
But this time, we worked on it together, arm in arm, kissing in between.
The terrible tension in my chest started to ease.
I was getting her back.
For the next few nights, we planned dishes and cooked them together. I loved this because it was a facet of our relationship that hadn’t existed before. We always took turns with the dinners, letting the other person work or relax.
Now, teamwork in the kitchen was our new normal.
Fresh vegetables and salads and ingredients turned a simple meal into memories for her. We had more than just the food. We had research, conversations, and planning. This simple act of setting out and achieving a goal with a new recipe boosted her confidence. She relaxed more and worried less. We curled up on the sofa to eat and watch a movie, often old classics that weren’t too flashy or loud.
About two weeks into our new culinary relationship, I suggested we take a night off and let someone else cook for us. We hadn’t been to a nice restaurant since she’d lost her memory because she obsessed over every expenditure now that she had seen the budget.
But one of my buddies at the garage told me about this hole-in-the-wall Italian place that wasn’t too expensive, had good food, and had a very romantic vibe. He assured me it was quiet and small.
When we went out to the car to go, she asked to drive, another surprise. Her doctor told her it was okay if another adult was in the car.
She did a good job navigating the side streets and remembering when to signal and when to change lanes. I worked hard to make it fun and easy for her, suppressing any feelings I had of alarm if she braked too hard or passed a turn.
