Between Us: Is Love Enough?

Chapter 11: The Pasta Lesson

Ava’s POV

The kitchen smells like garlic and flour.

Daniel chops parsley with military precision while Sophie "measures" salt by pouring it directly into her palm.

"Like this, Daddy?" She lets the grains cascade into the mixing bowl like a tiny, reckless snowstorm.

"Perfect," he deadpans, catching my eye over her head.

I bite my lip to keep from laughing.

This isn't how I imagined our first non-custody-mandated time together—elbow-deep in semolina flour, with Sophie's sticky fingerprints on every surface. But it feels... easy.

Daniel reaches past me for the olive oil, his arm brushing mine. "Sorry."

The old Daniel never apologized for casual touches. The old me never acknowledged how much I missed them.

"More cheese!" Sophie demands, brandishing her kiddie knife.

Daniel surrenders the parmesan. "Yes, Chef."

Sophie beams at the title, sprinkling cheese everywhere except the pasta.

I should be stressed about the mess. Instead, I'm mesmerized by the way Daniel lets her take the lead—no micromanaging, no criticism. Just quiet encouragement.

The timer dings. Daniel drains the pasta while I toss the sauce. Sophie sets the table with mismatched plates.

We sit down to eat what might be the lumpiest, most over-salted fettuccine Alfredo in culinary history.

Sophie takes one bite and wrinkles her nose. "It's yucky."

Daniel and I burst out laughing at the same time.

Daniel’s POV

Ava's laugh is the same as I remember—unexpectedly loud, ending in a snort.

Sophie giggles at us. "You're being silly!"

Ava wipes her eyes. "You're right, bug. This pasta is terrible."

"Best I've ever had," I say, shoveling another forkful in.

Ava kicks me under the table. Not hard. Just enough to say liar.

Our legs stay touching a second too long.

Sophie’s POV

Mommy and Daddy keep looking at each other weird.

Not mad weird. Not sad weird.

The kind of weird when I try to sneak cookies and think no one sees me.

I dump more cheese on my pasta. Grown-ups are strange.

Ava’s POV

Daniel helps with dishes while Sophie builds a fort in the living room.

"You didn't bring wine," I say, scrubbing a stubborn cheese glob.

He dries a plate slowly. "Figured it might send the wrong message."

Our fingers brush as he takes the next dish. Electricity zips up my arm.

"Red would have," I admit. "White would've been safe."

He smirks. "Noted."

The moment stretches, fragile as a soap bubble.

Sophie crashes into the kitchen wearing a colander helmet. "I'm a space knight!"

The bubble pops—but gently.

Daniel’s POV

At the door, Sophie clings to my leg. "Don't go!"

I kneel to her level. "I'll see you Wednesday, Supergirl."

"Promise?"

"Cross my heart." I make the motion over my chest.

Ava watches from the hallway, arms crossed. There's something new in her expression—not quite trust, but the possibility of it.

I want to kiss her goodbye like I used to. Instead, I nod. "Thanks for dinner."

She smiles. "Even though it was terrible?"

"Especially because it was terrible."

Sophie groans. "You're being weird again!"

Ava's laughter follows me down the stairs.

Ava’s POV

After Sophie's asleep, I find Daniel's jacket still hanging on the back of a chair.

I press it to my face before I can stop myself.

It smells like his cologne and garlic and home.

I text him: You forgot your jacket.

His reply is instant: Keep it warm for me.

My heart stutters.

This feels dangerous.

This feels like hope.

Daniel’s POV

Dr. Bennett arches an eyebrow at my session the next morning. "You cooked together?"

"And laughed. And didn't argue once." I rub my jaw. "It scared the hell out of me."

"Why?"

"Because..." The truth claws its way up. "What if I backslide? What if I hurt her again?"

Dr. Bennett sets down her pen. "Daniel, recovery isn't about never making mistakes. It's about owning them when you do."

I think of Ava's smile as I left. The way she didn't flinch when I touched her.

For the first time, I believe I might deserve that smile.

Ava’s POV

Marlene catches me humming while arranging peonies.

"Someone's cheerful," she teases.

I tuck a bloom behind my ear on impulse. "The pasta was awful. The company wasn't."

Marlene winks. "Next time, try lasagna. Harder to mess up."

Next time.

The words settle in my chest, warm as sunlight.

Sophie’s POV

Mommy lets me call Daddy before bed.

"Guess what?" I whisper so Mommy won't hear. "Your jacket's on her pillow."

Daddy makes a funny choking sound. "That's, uh. Good to know, kiddo."

Mommy walks in. "Everything okay?"

I grin. "Just secrets."

Grown-ups are so easy to figure out.