“That’s how it starts: one of the little metal parts moves out of the way for the other.” He seemed quite serious, but inside he knew it was all bullshit.
“You’re fucking crazy,” she said, “if I had time to explain it to you better, I would. Right now I just need to get through the last of these.” Her hand moved almost mechanically, as though she’d done it a thousand times before. Her face was one of blank focus as she worked.
“We’ve been through this before. Why don’t you put them down for now and we’ll fix something for dinner. You should just relax for the rest of the evening.” His hand came to rest on her shoulder. Thinking the better of it, he removed it again. “Besides, you like Italian,” he added with a smile.
With a sigh of mock defeat, she pushed aside the contraption and turned to look at him. “You’re right. I am getting hungry.” She stood and walked towards the kitchen. “You are going to help, aren’t you?”
“Absolutely. What would you like to drink?” He followed her into the small kitchen, reaching above the counter that also served as their dinner table to get a couple of wine glasses.
“Sangria, if I still have a bottle left, otherwise something else red. I feel as though I could drink the whole bottle.” She filled the large boiling pot with water and salted it well. She turned on the stove and hummed a dissonant tune.
“Here you go, ” he handed her the glass of wine, taking a sip of his at the same time. “I’ll start the salad.”
“Thanks for coming over. I didn’t want to be alone tonight.”
This entry just felt like writing.
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