Author's pov
Damien lifted the bowl and took a sip. The soup tasted like cardboard. He couldn't figure out what he used to love about it.
Three years ago, when he brought Aria to that little Italian place, he'd ordered seconds, then thirds. Back then, he swore it was the best minestrone on the East Coast.
Now he got it. Three years ago, he wasn't just eating soup. He was soaking up every moment with her.
The way she'd close her eyes when she tasted something good. How she'd make those little happy sounds between spoonfuls.
He'd found himself mirroring her movements without realizing it. That's what made everything taste incredible.
Now he could barely choke down a mouthful.
He set the bowl back on the patio table. The takeout containers sat cooling in the ocean breez
