Chapter Seven“I’ve never eaten a sandwich in the bathtub before.” Mallory takes a big bite of the Monte Cristo I made for us, giving herself a strawberry-jelly mustache.
We are sitting side by side, the wrong way so neither of us has to have the faucet in our back, bubbles almost up to our shoulders. Mallory has her knees to her chest, and I have hooked mine over the side.
The kitchen is a mess, so I turned the lights out and started the wood stove. The surface of the water between the dissolving bubbles catches the reflection of our skin from above.
When we were kissing, her stomach had growled. She laughed, and I had suddenly wanted to keep her, take care of her, but had no idea how.
I settled for soaking bread in eggs and milk, slicing ham and cheese, and using up all my strawberry
