[Perspective: Aryan Spencer]
The kitchen was bathed in the warm light of the early afternoon. It was the kind of light that made dust motes look like suspended gold and made the marble countertops gleam with an invitation to mess them up.
"Okay," I said, leaning back against the island and crossing my arms. "We have a crisis. A caloric crisis. Breakfast was hours ago and my metabolism is currently filing a formal complaint. What are we eating?"
Wanda was standing in front of the open fridge, staring into it as if the answers to the universe were written on the milk carton. She was wearing my blue hoodie again, the sleeves pulled down over her hands, looking like a very cozy and very indecisive monk.
"There are... options," she mused, not turning around.
"Options are the enemy of hunger," I countered. "We need a decision. Pasta? Or do we go rogue and make breakfast for lunch?"
She turned slowly, shutting the fridge door with her hip. She drifted toward me, her socks sliding silently on the hardwood.
"Pasta," she decided, coming to a stop right in front of me. "Something... rich. Creamy."
"Carbonara," I said instantly. "The King of Pasta. Eggs, cheese, pancetta, pepper. No cream, because that is a culinary sin and I will not have it in my house."
She smiled, a slow curving of her lips. "You are very passionate about dairy products."
"I am passionate about tradition," I corrected. "And bacon."
I pushed off the island, ready to start the prep. "Alright. I need a big pot. You grab the parmesan. We need to grate like our lives depend on it."
I moved toward the stove. Or, I tried to.
I felt a weight settle against my back. Arms wrapped around my waist, locking in front of my stomach. A chin rested on my shoulder.
I froze.
"Wanda?"
"Mmm?" she hummed, her vibration traveling through my spine.
"You are... attached."
"I am supervising," she murmured into my neck.
"You're a backpack," I teased, trying to reach for the pot while carrying an extra hundred ish pounds of superhero. "This is a workplace hazard. How am I supposed to sauté?"
"You are a doctor," she whispered, pressing a soft kiss to the side of my neck. "You have steady hands. Figure it out."
I laughed, the sound bubbling up effortlessly.
"Okay," I said, resigning myself to my fate. "Backpack it is. But if you get splattered with pasta water, don't sue me."
"I will not sue," she promised, tightening her hug. "I will just heal."
Cooking Carbonara is usually a frantic dance of timing. The pasta has to be hot enough to cook the eggs but not so hot it scrambles them.
I moved around the kitchen with Wanda clinging to me like a koala. I'd take a step to the sink; she'd shuffle with me. I'd turn to the stove; she'd pivot.
"Pancetta," I announced, grabbing the package. "Dice it. Cubes."
I chopped. She watched over my shoulder, occasionally reaching out to steal a raw cube of cured pork.
"Hey!" I swatted her hand away gently. "Thief. That's for the sauce."
"Quality control," she mumbled, chewing happily.
"You're useless today," I laughed, dropping the meat into the cold pan and turning on the heat.
"I am resting," she corrected. "I had a busy morning. Physically."
"Fair point," I conceded. "Physical labor is tax deductible."
The kitchen filled with the smell of rendering fat and black pepper. I boiled the water. I grated the cheese (with some difficulty, given the restrictions on my range of motion).
"Okay," I said, lifting the pasta tongs. "This is the critical moment. Release me, woman. I need range."
She sighed, a dramatic sound and slowly untangled her arms.
"Fine," she pouted, leaning back against the counter.
I quickly tossed the pasta in the egg mixture, creating the golden sauce. I plated it. I cracked extra pepper on top.
"Done," I declared. "Masterpiece."
I looked at her. She was eyeing the bowls with hunger, but she hadn't moved to the table.
"Are you going to walk?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.
She looked at her feet. Then she looked at me. She extended her arms.
"I am... very tired," she claimed, her eyes twinkling.
I shook my head, fighting a grin. "You are spoiled. I have created a monster."
I walked over. I slid one arm under her knees, the other behind her back. I lifted her.
"Up we go," I said.
She laughed, looping her arms around my neck. "Thank you, peasant."
"That's 'Chef Peasant' to you," I corrected, carrying her into the dining room.
I deposited her gently onto her chair. I went back, grabbed the bowls and the forks and returned.
I sat down next to her.
I pushed her bowl in front of her.
She picked up her fork. She swirled the pasta. She looked at me.
"What?" I asked, mouth full of spaghetti.
"My hand," she said, holding up her right hand and flexing her fingers. "It feels... heavy."
I stared at her. "Your hand is heavy."
"Yes. Lifting the fork is... a struggle."
I put my fork down. I swallowed.
"You want me to feed you," I stated.
She smiled innocently. "I am just saying... assistance would be appreciated."
"Unbelievable," I muttered, but I was already reaching for her fork.
I twirled a perfect nest of pasta. I blew on it gently to cool it down.
I held it up to her lips.
"Say 'Ah'," I commanded softly.
"I am not a child, Aryan," she teased, but her eyes were locked on mine, affectionate.
"You're acting like one," I retorted. "A very demanding, very cute toddler. Open."
She opened her mouth. I slid the fork in.
She chewed, closing her eyes. "Mmm. It is... salty and creamy."
"It's perfect," I said.
I took a bite from her fork.
"Hey," she protested. "That is mine."
"Tax," I said. "Chef's tax."
I loaded it again. I fed her.
We ate from the same bowl, sharing the same utensil. It was undeniably romantic. Every time I brought the fork to her lips, I watched her mouth. Every time she chewed, she watched my eyes.
"You have pepper," she whispered, reaching out to wipe the corner of my mouth with her thumb.
I caught her finger. I kissed the tip.
"Thank you," I said.
By the time the bowl was empty, I felt fuller than the food could account for.
PS: What are you guys doing? We're almost getting a bonus chapter every day at this rate, haha. I just finished writing chapter 90 on Patreon, and you all are catching up way too fast with these bonus chapters. Slow down, slow down, slow down… give me some time to breathe, hahaha. At this speed, I'll need a second brain just to keep up. Hahaha