than announcing when it was finished. When I suggested more garlic, she gave me an approving look.
“See? Progress.”
“I was feeding myself successfully before we met.”
“Now you have better company.”
I could not argue with that.
At one point, I reached across her for a spoon and she moved aside. Our hands touched near the drawer. She looked up at me, smiling in a way that had nothing to do with a joke.
“What?”
She shook her head.
“I like this.”
“The kitchen?”
“Wesley.”
I put down the
