(Ashley)
We sat there in the quiet for a little while longer.
Then Vaughn got up and went to the kitchen. I heard him opening the fridge and moving things around. A few minutes later the smell of something cooking reached me in the living room.
I did not move from the chair.
He was never in the kitchen. In all the time he had been here I could count on one hand the number of times he had even opened the fridge for something other than a beer. But tonight he was actually cooking. Moving around like he had somewhere to be and something to do.
I got up eventually and stood in the doorway.
He had found the groceries I bought last week. There was a pan going on the stove and he was moving around my kitchen like he belonged there. Comfortable. Easy.
"What are you making," I said.
"Pasta.
