HERMIONE
A soothing, romantic melody plays softly in the background while Aiden stands behind me, his arms wrapped around my waist, guiding me through the cooking process.
A tender smile spreads across my face at the intimacy. Although he hasn't fully regained his memories, it's hardly noticeable. The past Aiden, without amnesia, is just as doting as the present Aiden.
It's the weekend, the second day since his discharge, and I'm cooking dinner under his guidance, since he claims he's still recuperating. I'm inclined to make this my treat, but I know my cooking won't compare to his Michelin 5-star restaurant standards.
I season the chicken soup and scoop some of it, twisting in his arm to feed him a spoonful. "What do you think?" I ask.
He smacks his lips, scrunching his nose in a
