First time she'd ever seen Julian in an apron.
Whether it was those years leaning on each other at the detention center or the night he'd shown up outside her university with a ring, Eleanor had never once pictured him as someone capable in a kitchen.
Three years married, and not once had he cooked a meal.
If she hadn't stumbled across him and Cassandra at the grocery store that day, she'd never have known he could cook at all.
She studied him now, unable to stop herself.
The apron wasn't pink dark navy canvas, heavy, clearly well-used and not new.
Something specifically kept for him.
Which meant this wasn't a one-off performance for the party. He did this regularly. For her.
Eleanor couldn't name exactly what was twisting in her chest, but it wasn't nothing.
"Eleanor, you haven't
