He poured us wine and we fell into a rhythm. Me chopping, him stirring, both of us moving around the kitchen like we'd done this a thousand times before.
Except we hadn't.
In our old life, we'd been too broke for fancy ingredients and too busy for elaborate meals. Dinner had been takeout or something fast and cheap.
This was different.
Every time I moved, I brushed against him. His hand on my waist as he reached past me for the wine bottle. My back against his chest as he showed me how to "properly" stir the sauce, even though I knew exactly how to stir.
The air felt hot and it made my skin tingle and my breath come faster.
"You've gotten good at this," I said, watching him plate the pasta with ease.
"I had a lot of time to learn." He handed me my plate.
"Let's eat," he said, grab
