Home

"Oh, hey, you're out. Feel better?"

He was standing around in the kitchen area when she got downstairs, fiddling with the oven.

"Yeah. That's quite a bathroom you have up there."

"Heh, yeah." His mind seemed to wander for a moment, and he looked saddened, but he quickly shook it off and continued. "I'm umm, making some lunch, I thought maybe you might be hungry or something? Well, I said making lunch, I'm actually heating some soup, but uhh, yeah..." He trailed off and looked down at his feet again, doing his embarrassed little shuffle.

"Sounds great. I'm starving."

He grinned up at her, which made her feel like she'd just patted a small boy on the head, and she maneuvered herself on to one of a few stools that stood alongside the countertop while she watched him play at chef. Her fingers traced little patterns on the work surface and she found her mind drifting back to her own kitchen, a much smaller affair that you could barely fit two people in at a time, but it hadn't stopped her inviting her friends to dinner ridiculously often. Back when she had friends of course.

He was half watching the soup bubble in the saucepan and half watching the woman perched on the stool beside him. When she had said she was starving, he could believe she meant literally. She looked ghostly almost, nearly swamped by the fluffy robe she was wearing, and her current expression was almost painfully sad. It was so tempting to ask how she had ended up where she was now, but he had a feeling it would bring an abrupt end to their current truce, and he didn't feel like another day of headaches.

Before she realised any time had passed, he was sliding a bowl and spoon in front of her, before settling down on another stool with his own and a huge plate full of bread rolls.

"Help yourself." he said gesturing at them before busying himself with his own food.

She had to admit, it was good soup, better than the stuff she got in hostels anyway, and the bread was fresh, and before she knew it hers had vanished, while he was still only halfway through his own bowl.

When he noticed she'd finished he asked, "Hey, you want some more, there's loads?"

"No! No, I'm sorry, I..." she blushed and looked down, twisting her hands in her lap. She looked almost afraid he thought.

"No, here." he got up to retrieve the pan and tip more into her bowl, "It's always nice to have my 'heating stuff up' skills appreciated."

"Thank you." she murmured, picking up another roll and breaking off a tiny piece of it, nibbling on it like she were a mouse. He could have sworn he caught a glimpse of a tear in her eye, but she had let her hair fall down around her face and he no longer had a clear view.

The rest of the meal passed in an awkward sort of silence, followed by an argument about clearing the dishes away, which she insisted was her job since he had cooked, and he insisted he should do, since she was not just a guest, but also injured. He practically had to wrestle the dishes away from her, and banished her to the couch while he tidied up and made them both a cup of coffee.

When he joined her on the sofa, she looked like a sulky child, which gave him the very inappropriate urge to laugh at her.

"Look," she said after a long moment, "Since I seem to be staying here, don't interrupt me please, I don't want to just you know, freeload. So you should let me at least cook or something. I'd offer to clean but I bet you have a cleaner, don't you?"

"Well yeah, I do...But I guess you can cook if you want to. And if you promise to keep off your foot as much as you can. "

She nodded her agreement and they drifted back into silence again.

"Do you like cooking then?" he blurted out, before thinking to himself what a ridiculous question it was. She didn't have a house, so she didn't have a kitchen or an oven or even a fucking chopping board. He screwed his face up, wincing at what the response would be. What he didn't expect was for her to calmly reply,

"Yeah. I guess I do."

There was another awkward pause.

"Umm, Martin?" She sounded shy now.

"Yeah?"

"I...I couldn't watch your TV could I? I haven't seen any in a while." She looked almost chronically embarrassed now, biting her lip fiercely as she tried to meet his eye.

He didn't know what he had expected her to ask, but it hadn't been that. He got up and put the TV on and handed her the remote control. She started to flick through the stations when he heard a knock on the door.

"Bugger," he said, "That's the driver, I have to go out this afternoon. Just umm, do whatever OK? And stay off your ankle."

"OK, well, have a nice afternoon I guess."

"Somehow, I don't think it will be." he sighed, before heading off into the hallway.

A few seconds later she heard the front door slam shut, and the distinct jangle of him locking it, which made her irritated all over again, before she sank back into the sofa for an afternoon of catching up with soaps.