STELLA
Arthur’s kitchen became my favorite place without me realizing when it happened.
It wasn’t fancy. Clean, yes,but lived in. A mug drying upside down by the sink. A bowl of fruit he kept forgetting to eat. Soft music humming low from somewhere I couldn’t place. It felt like him,steady, understated, warm. I smiled with my teeth.
I sat on the counter while he moved around, sleeves rolled up, hair slightly out of place like he’d run his hand through it one too many times.
“You’re staring,” he said without looking at me.
I smiled. “You’re cooking. I didn’t know you could.”
“You know that's not true,” he replied. “The last time I prepared something, you licked your whole hands.”
I bursted out laughing. “I'd never!!!”
He chuckled.
He was so focused. He dropped me on the counter aga
