“What?”
“You don’t have to stop being frightened before you’re allowed to begin.”
She considered that.
Marco looked at me differently.
Not impressed.
Seen.
That evening, we went home.
The anniversary pasta was still sitting in the refrigerator.
Marco reached for his keys.
I assumed he planned to take me somewhere.
Instead, he opened the fridge.
“Can I reheat this?”
“You better,” I muttered. “I spent 40 minutes on that sauce.”
He smiled.
The dessert had collapsed overnight.
The pasta was softer than it should have been.
Marco took a bite.
“This is really good.”
“It was better yesterday.”
He winced.
“Fair.”
We ate quietly for a while.
Then I said,
“I can forgive dinner getting cold.”
Marco looked up.
