Page 79 of Only You

“When you’re safe to touch,” I said, “I’m going tosmotheryou with kisses.” I tossed him a change of clothes.

He lathered his chest with soap and grinned widely. “Don’t eat all the oranges in one sitting. There are some recipes I want to try.”

I went back into the lobby, put gloves on, and began wiping down every orange with a disinfectant cloth. It felt like overkill, but I didn’t care! I was too excited!

There was a box of condoms under the orange bags, too. I squealed happily when I saw that.

As I collected the clean oranges in a cardboard box from the kitchen, I noticed the receipt. Five Euros for the oranges was cheap indeed.

Donovan came out of the pool room in his new clothes. He dried his hair with a towel and said, “So you like the surprise?”

“I love it! The grocery store finally restocked?”

“Actually, I had to walk across town to the other store. I walked like six kilometers today.”

“You did that for little old me?” I batted my eyelashes at him.

“Only you,” he replied. “If it was anyone else, I’d let them get scurvy.”

His lips tasted like soap as I kissed him, but I didn’t mind. I held up the receipt and said, “Did you get diapers?”

“Must be a mistake on the receipt,” he replied after a short pause. “Things were crazy at the store. Come on, let’s get cooking. I have an orange-iced cookie recipe I want to try.”

I glanced at the box. “Do we have enough oranges?”

“My recipe only calls for one.”

“In about ten minutes, there might not be one left!”

He laughed. “Thankfully I only need to zest the peel. The inside is all yours.”

I sat on the counter in the kitchen while he prepared his cookies. I had sliced open an orange and was slowly eating the pieces, savoring them to make them last longer. The tangy, sweet fruit tasted better than I remembered and juice ran over my chin.

Donovan used a zesting grater to flavor a bowl full of icing he had made from scratch. The smell of oranges hung in the air, putting a permanent smile on my face.

“Mom always included orange slices in my lunchbox,” I said. “She thought oranges cured everything. Sleepy? Have an orange. Headache? Time for an orange. Scraped knee? Squeeze some orange juice on it—the stinging means it’s working! If she were alive to see the pandemic, she would probably claim oranges cure the virus. Or at least reduce your likelihood of catching it.”

Donovan laughed while mixing the icing with a whisk. A strand of black hair fell across his face, and he blew a puff of air to brush it away.

“I’m sorry it’s not a plane ride home,” he said. “But it’s the next best thing.”

“Oranges make mefeellike I’m home. That’s good enough.” I swallowed a bite and then said, “I really am sorry about last night.”

He pursed his lips together. “Me too. At least we’re not in jail.”

“Yeah, but it still sucks we can’t go anywhere now,” I insisted. “And that’s my fault.”

Donovan stopped stirring his bowl. “That just means we have to find more things to doinside. So really, it’s a good problem to have.”

“Especially now that we haveoranges!”

“Taste this.” He stuck his finger in the bowl and came out with a little blob of frosting. He aimed it at my face, and I leaned forward to suck it off his finger, giving it a little swirl with my tongue.

“Oh my God,” I said. “That tastesamazing.”

“Wait until you taste itonthe cookies.”

“Forget the cookies—give me the bowl!”

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