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She was crowding him, Grace knew it, Stevie knew it, but it didn’t stop her from doing it, or Stevie from stepping in a little closer. Grace took a sip of her wine to hide her smile and leaned her head back against the cabinet. His kitchen counter wasn’t the most comfortable place to sit, but it was the closest to him. She was tempted to sit close to the edge and bracket him with her thighs, but she refrained. She liked watching him like this, in his home, barefoot in sweats and a worn The Bonnevilles t-shirt, cooking their lunch for tomorrow’s shift; a side of the mystery man she kept to herself. She watched him slice a mango in half, the pit with barely any flesh on it, his hands sure and practised. She rubbed her bare foot up the back of his calf and rested it in the dip of his knee. The small smile that fleeted on his lips was hers alone and it filled her with warmth.
She took another sip as he made perfect squares of mangoes and dropped them in a bowl, flipping the skin over. There was a line of concentration between his brows and she felt something gentle and soft shift in her.
“When did you start cooking like this?” her voice startled them both. She wasn’t sure where the question came from, but suddenly she needed to know. She needed to know everything. Stevie’s concentration line turned into a frown, and she felt a twinge of regret. Grace leaned forward and ran a knuckle down the side of his face.
Stevie turned to smile at her, leaning his hip on the counter where she was sitting, square between her legs. He started to chop habaneros and took a deep breath. “After Sarah died...” he licked his lips and the tension she never vocalized came back between her shoulders.
It wasn’t jealousy, not exactly, but the knowledge she had that, had Sarah lived, he wouldn’t be her Stevie and she wouldn’t be here, sat heavily on her soul sometimes, an odd mix of guilt and gratefulness. It was an uncomfortable feeling she’ll have to deal on her own. Grace put her wine glass on the counter and scootched herself closer to the edge, her legs going around Stevie’s waist, ankles locked at his hip.
Stevie put his knife down and leaned toward the sink to wash his hands before he turned to Grace, bracketing her thighs with his hands. He looked in her eyes and she knew he saw the sorrow there because he smiled at her, that gentle smile he kept just for her. “It’s fine, I’m fine. I want you to know these things. She hated cooking, loathed it really, so it was my job. After she died, I just carried on as I’d been, you know, cause what else am I gonna do? And every time there was this second portion that suddenly belonged to no one.”
He cleared his throat. Grace put her hand on his cheek and Stevie turned to kiss her palm. Their eyes locked and she saw the shadow in his eyes, but they didn’t hide the light completely. She nodded at him to finish. “After a while, cooking was just too much, you know? Eating was a chore, staring at her empty seat. So I stopped. Cooking at least, mostly eating as well. Whatever takeout was available when I remembered to eat was considered a meal, didn’t matter to me none. Nothing had a taste. I went about like that for a year and a half maybe, until Evelyn ambushed me and sat me down in a shrink’s office.”
Grace wouldn’t help but snort. She had met Stevie’s eldest sister when they were still just partners. Evelyn was a force of nature who loved with her whole heart and defended her opinions. She had no problem imagining Evelyn doing that. Stevie answered her with a wry smile and a tilt of his head, well aware that his sister had proven who she was to Grace on every single one of their meetings. Grace slid her hand from his face to the nape, playing with the very short hair there. Stevie shivered and he squeezed her thighs. “How’d that go?”
Stevie pursed his lips, “She didn’t have too hard a time, seeing as I was skeletal at that stage.” Grace frowned and wrapped her arms around his neck, feeling him tangible in her arms, healthy and whole. She didn’t want to think about what could have happened without Evelyn’s intervention. Her eyes filled and Stevie hugged her back, “It’s fine, I’m fine, ’twas a long time ago.” She hummed and held him tight. He kissed the side of her neck and she settled her head on his shoulder, at peace in this moment. “I’m glad it worked.”
“Aye, it did. Not as intended, but it did. The doctor helped me through my grief, but first he made me a plan, took advantage of my police training to put in orders, like, you know? Had to eat by this time and that time. Nothing had a taste, but I wasn’t wasting away any more. And then we had a call for a theft at a market. Some muppet was stealing cashboxes. He was still going through them when we got there. Wasn’t too hard to catch and sort it all. A woman who had a cheese stall gave us some fried halloumi with hot honey,” Grace felt his cheek bunch up at her temple and she knew her was smiling.
She lifted her head and saw the shadows leaving his eyes. “That good, was it?”
“The best thing I’ve had in my life. I don’t know why that dish, I don’t know why that day, but I could taste it. At first it was the only thing I could taste, that cheese, so I went back to the kitchen and cooked with it. I had to find recipes, and started experimenting. Other tastes came back after that. And I guess I just kept going,” Stevie hands dropped to her waist and his thumbs passed under her sweatshirt, stroking the skin on her back.
“And then you became the station’s favourite cook?” she tried to cover the shiver and the goosebumps that followed in the wake of his thumbs.
“Nah, the cooking was my thing, you know? I cooked for one because that’s how it was, you know?” Grace tilted her head, a frown forming between her eyebrows.
“But... you shared with me. On our third shift, you offered your lunch to me...” his soft smile was back and Grace felt herself melt.
“Aye, there you were and there I was that day, in the kitchen, cooking for two because that’s how it was now,” Grace swallowed hard around the lump that formed in her throat. He had known, from the very beginning. She had been scared and refused his food, and him, but he had known and he had kept on sharing something with her that was at the very heart of him until she accepted it, and him.
She remembered the day after that vol-au-vent, his bento box was bigger and he clacked it open with a great air of glee before he offered it to her, announcing the contents with a flourish: fried halloumi with hot honey. He had watched her take a piece of it with a lightness she had never seen in him, but also with an expectation she hadn’t understood. She did now.
Twin tears rolled down her face and she took Stevie’s face between her hands and kissed him tenderly. When they pulled apart, Stevie leaned his forehead against hers and Grace closed her eyes.
“I’m sorry,” she spoke barely above a whisper.
Stevie pulled away and put a finger under her chin, “Hey, none of that, it all worked out. And look at me, cooking for two and never happier.”
Grace looked at the matching bento boxes and she felt her heart swell in her chest. “It’s lucky you are, because otherwise, we’d starve.” Grace felt his laughter before she heard it and she smiled in response, “Aye, well, you’ve got other talents.”
She couldn’t help the squeal when he put his hands under her butt and lifted her off the counter, turning them toward the hallway, “Let me go, you idiot!”
Stevie looked at her. There was something in his eyes that made Grace glad he was holding her up. He kissed her once and pulled back. “Never.”