"I don't know what to say," is my response. "I mean, I can cook, but not to this level."
"I can just teach you next time you're here."
It seems like an offhand remark, but my chest tightens. This doesn't seem like a purely physical relationship. He's cooking for me? He's offering to teach me how to cook. He's already, seemingly, made plans for me to come over again.
It's not that I hate this feeling growing inside of me. But I'm scared.
I don't want to point out to him that his actions and his previous words contradict each other. The small ember of hope which is slowly igniting in me, wants to keep my mouth shut.
I just shovel the food in my mouth, "This is really good. Thanks. But I don't think I can finish all of this."
"You've already lost too much weight," Morris says sharply. "
