Page 100 of Something Like Winter

“Yes, sir!”

Then Ben started stirring the concoction with a wooden spoon. “I learned to cook when taking care of you,” he said.

“Seriously?”

Ben nodded, smiling at the memory. “You didn’t notice? For two whole weeks everything you ate was either burnt or undercooked. I didn’t know what I was doing. I’m surprised you survived.”

“I remember it all tasting good.”

“Must have been the painkillers.” Ben glanced over at him, his eyes shiny. “I loved taking care of you.”

“Well, you know where I live, and I’m still needy as hell.”

“It’s different now,” Ben said.

“Exactly.” Tim came up close behind him. “So is there a trick to stirring? Let me try.”

He moved his arms around Ben, who let go of the wooden spoon before Tim could place his hand over his.

“Seriously?” Ben said. “That tired old move? Stir away.” Tim took the spoon and jabbed at the sauce. “I don’t know how.” “Oh, come on!”

Tim moved forward, their bodies in full contact now. “Guide my hand.”

“So lame!” Ben shook his head, but then he put his hand over Tim’s.

And it felt so damned wonderful. Ben made a little effort to stir, but Tim let go of the spoon, splaying his fingers and inviting Ben to interweave his own. Ben moved his hand away and rolled to the side to free himself from his embrace. He didn’t look angry though. Instead his skin was flushed.

“Keep stirring,” he said.

“I’m not really hungry,” Tim tried.

“But I am, and you promised me dinner.”

“I suppose I did.” Tim stirred, but kept his eyes on Ben. “You should come by more often, maybe in the morning. I miss those burnt waffles you used to make.”

“They were pancakes,” Ben protested, “and I thought you didn’t remember my food being bad!”

Tim nodded at the pot. “It’s starting to come back to me.”

Ben laughed and shook his head, pushing Tim aside so he could resume cooking, tasting and adjusting the sauce, and testing the noodles. When he was satisfied he drained the water. “Grab some plates.”

“Nah, just throw the pasta in the sauce and we’ll eat it here. That’s what I do sometimes with mac and cheese. Eat it straight out of the pot right here at the stove.”

Ben stared at him. “That’s the saddest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“You feel sorry for me?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Misery loves company. Grab a couple forks from that drawer and join me.”

As it turned out, the food wasn’t much better than the instant food Tim occasionally wolfed down, but the process had been fun. They attacked the pot, occasionally sword fighting with their forks, and snacking away until most of it was gone.

“I wish it could be like this every day,” Tim said.

Ben toyed with a few leftover noodles in the pot. “This used to be my dream.”

“And I ruined it. Do you ever regret it?”