food."
He shakes the sandwich at me. "Want one?"
"No, thanks." I brush past him, making sure to slide my body over his, and get the milk. "I'll just have some cereal."
He takes a seat at the table and starts eating. The sandwich is almost gone by the time I join him with my bowl of cereal.
"You're really lucky with all those people feeding you," I say and chuckle.
"It's nothing compared to how great it was while David was still around," he says. A shadow passes over his eyes, and I'm very aware that he said 'around' and not 'alive'.
"Really?" I say, because anything more will make my voice shatter into a million pieces.
"No, it's alright, Gail," he says, and runs his hand over my forearm, like I'm the one who needs to be comforted over his friend dying. "David was a chef, and he cooked like all the time. Really well, too."
I clear my throat and look into his eyes. But they're blank now, not transporting to me any place safe and warm. "That must have been great. Did he teach you to make anything?"
"Yeah right, he could hardly stand me being in the kitchen while he cooked, and I certainly wasn't allowed to touch anything," Scott says and smiles, the shadows disappearing from his eyes like he's looking all the way back to that kitchen and not regretting the sight. "I actually never saw the point in trying to learn, since he could do it so well."
The shadow returns, and I know what he's not saying like he actually said it aloud. He expected his friend to be around for a long time yet.
I want the shadows to go, I want it to be just us in this kitchen. Dead is dead. Why does it have to stay with you forever?
"I can't cook at all either," I mutter.
"Judging by the state of your fridge, I can believe that," he says, and eats the last bit of his sandwich like he's happy we're changing the subject too. "Was that some Chinese leftovers I saw in the fridge?"
I screw up my eyes, trying to recall when we ordered that. "I think that's been there since Tuesday. I wouldn't eat it anymore."
He stands and goes back to the counter. "I guess it's just sandwiches for me then."
"We could go out," I suggest.
"What, in this weather?" He shakes his head and looks at me over his shoulder, grinning widely. "Besides, weren't we going to take a shower after breakfast?"
The same grin spreads across my face, and desire forms a channel between us, flowing strong. I can't wait for him to finish that second sandwich.
Once we're in the bathroom, I slide off my robe and turn on the tap. I watch Scott undress in the mirror, but the steam rising soon makes it impossible.
I take his hand and lead him to the shower, because he's just standing there, staring at me, and the heat in the room is amplified by his gaze making it hard for me to breathe.
"Don't you think that's a little hot?" he says after placing his fingers under the spray and snatching them away immediately.
I step under the spray, and bend my head back so the water wets my hair and runs down my back. "I like it hot."
I'm still holding his hand but my arm is stretched out all the way now, because he's not getting in with me.
"Seriously," he says and grins sheepishly. "The water's too hot for me."
I adjust the temperature with my free hand. "My, you are difficult to please."
"Not really," he says and steps in, wrapping his arms around me. "I just don't want to have a heart attack from the heat in here."
I swallow the sharp fear that rises from my chest at his words. But he's gazing into my eyes, and I can see for miles through his, into a place worlds away, where even death has no real meaning.
I run my hands over the muscles of his arms, squeezing the hard flesh which doesn't really yield under my fingers. His neck is just as hard as his bicep, he's all muscle. There's nothing soft on him, except his lips pressed against mine now, in a kiss that has no beginning and no end.
My back is pressed against the tiles of the shower wall, the cold accentuating the heat,
He shakes the sandwich at me. "Want one?"
"No, thanks." I brush past him, making sure to slide my body over his, and get the milk. "I'll just have some cereal."
He takes a seat at the table and starts eating. The sandwich is almost gone by the time I join him with my bowl of cereal.
"You're really lucky with all those people feeding you," I say and chuckle.
"It's nothing compared to how great it was while David was still around," he says. A shadow passes over his eyes, and I'm very aware that he said 'around' and not 'alive'.
"Really?" I say, because anything more will make my voice shatter into a million pieces.
"No, it's alright, Gail," he says, and runs his hand over my forearm, like I'm the one who needs to be comforted over his friend dying. "David was a chef, and he cooked like all the time. Really well, too."
I clear my throat and look into his eyes. But they're blank now, not transporting to me any place safe and warm. "That must have been great. Did he teach you to make anything?"
"Yeah right, he could hardly stand me being in the kitchen while he cooked, and I certainly wasn't allowed to touch anything," Scott says and smiles, the shadows disappearing from his eyes like he's looking all the way back to that kitchen and not regretting the sight. "I actually never saw the point in trying to learn, since he could do it so well."
The shadow returns, and I know what he's not saying like he actually said it aloud. He expected his friend to be around for a long time yet.
I want the shadows to go, I want it to be just us in this kitchen. Dead is dead. Why does it have to stay with you forever?
"I can't cook at all either," I mutter.
"Judging by the state of your fridge, I can believe that," he says, and eats the last bit of his sandwich like he's happy we're changing the subject too. "Was that some Chinese leftovers I saw in the fridge?"
I screw up my eyes, trying to recall when we ordered that. "I think that's been there since Tuesday. I wouldn't eat it anymore."
He stands and goes back to the counter. "I guess it's just sandwiches for me then."
"We could go out," I suggest.
"What, in this weather?" He shakes his head and looks at me over his shoulder, grinning widely. "Besides, weren't we going to take a shower after breakfast?"
The same grin spreads across my face, and desire forms a channel between us, flowing strong. I can't wait for him to finish that second sandwich.
Once we're in the bathroom, I slide off my robe and turn on the tap. I watch Scott undress in the mirror, but the steam rising soon makes it impossible.
I take his hand and lead him to the shower, because he's just standing there, staring at me, and the heat in the room is amplified by his gaze making it hard for me to breathe.
"Don't you think that's a little hot?" he says after placing his fingers under the spray and snatching them away immediately.
I step under the spray, and bend my head back so the water wets my hair and runs down my back. "I like it hot."
I'm still holding his hand but my arm is stretched out all the way now, because he's not getting in with me.
"Seriously," he says and grins sheepishly. "The water's too hot for me."
I adjust the temperature with my free hand. "My, you are difficult to please."
"Not really," he says and steps in, wrapping his arms around me. "I just don't want to have a heart attack from the heat in here."
I swallow the sharp fear that rises from my chest at his words. But he's gazing into my eyes, and I can see for miles through his, into a place worlds away, where even death has no real meaning.
I run my hands over the muscles of his arms, squeezing the hard flesh which doesn't really yield under my fingers. His neck is just as hard as his bicep, he's all muscle. There's nothing soft on him, except his lips pressed against mine now, in a kiss that has no beginning and no end.
My back is pressed against the tiles of the shower wall, the cold accentuating the heat,
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