ZEKE'S POV
Zeke's POV
"What's your favorite meal?" I asked while guiding Cecelia away from the vehicle and back toward the pack house.
She looked at me like I'd spoken in a foreign language while her brow furrowed in confusion. "What does that have to do
with anything?"
"Just answer the question." I kept my hand on the small of her back while steering her through the
entrance and down the hallway toward the private wing where my quarters were located. "Your favorite meal, what is it?"
I saw the exhausted and confused look on her face.
"Marcus needs three hours to set up proper surveillance and you need to eat something since you haven't had a real meal since you arrived. If you don't take care of yourself you won't be any good to Golden when we do find him.
" I pushed open the door to my private quarters and ushered her inside before she could protest. "So I'm
asking again, what's your favorite meal?"
She stood in the middle of my living room looking lost. Her eyes darted around taking in the space that used to be hers too before everything fell apart. "Mushroom risotto," she finally said so quietly, I almost didn't hear her. "With garlic bread and that specific way you used to make the sauce with white wine and parmesan."
Something warm bloomed in my chest because she remembered that I used to cook for her during the early days of our marriage. "Sit
down," I told her while pointing to the couch. "I'll make it for you."
"You don't have to do that." She twisted her hands nervously. "I'm not even hungry."
"Your body needs fuel whether you feel hungry or not because stress suppresses appetite and depletes energy faster than normal activity."
I moved toward the kitchen area while pulling out my phone to check what ingredients I had available. "Besides, cooking will give me something to do with my hands for the next three hours instead of pacing to and fro."
Cecelia watched me for a moment longer before finally sinking onto the couch. She pulled her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them while staring at nothing in particular.
I moved through the kitchen gathering what I needed while keeping one eye on her through the open archway that connected the spaces. The bond between us pulsed with her exhaustion and fear while I started chopping mushrooms with more force than necessary.
"When did you learn to cook?" she
asked suddenly while her voice drifted from the living room. "You could barely boil water when we first got married."
"I had a lot of time on my hands after you left,
" I said while sweeping the chopped mushrooms into a bowl. "Cooking gave me something to focus on that wasn't thinking about how badly I'd messed everything up."
She didn't respond to that but I felt something shift through the bond, a flicker of surprise mixed with something I couldn't quite identify. I started the risotto base with butter
and onions while the familiar motions helped settle some of the restless energy thrumming through my system.
The kitchen filled with the smell of cooking onions and garlic while I added the rice and let it toast before starting to add the stock one ladle at a time. This had always been the meditative part, the constant stirring and gradual addition of liquid that required just enough attention to quiet an overactive mind.
"I used to dream about this," Cecelia said after several minutes of
silence. "Not the risotto specifically but just having you cook for me again like you did during those first few months before everything went wrong."
My hand stilled on the spoon while her words hit harder than they should have. "I'm sorry," I said without turning around because if I looked at her right now I might say something we weren't ready for yet. "I'm sorry I stopped doing the small things that made you ."
"You were fucking Layla," she said flatly though I could hear the old hurt beneath the words.
I added another ladle of stock while my throat went tight because she wasn't wrong about any of it. "I was an idiot. " I said while focusing on stirring so I didn't have to see her face. "...but what we have..."
"Past tense," Cecelia said quietly. "What we had, not what we have."
"Is it past tense?" I finally turned to look at her while the risotto bubbled gently behind me. "Because from where I'm standing it feels very present tense with how the bond keeps pulling us together. We try to pretend that it does not exist but it's there Cecelia."
She uncurled from her position on the couch and stood up while moving toward the kitchen with an expression I couldn't read. "The bond might be there but that doesn't erase three years of pain or change the fact that you chose someone
else over me even after we were married."
"I know that." I turned back to the risotto and added the mushrooms . "I know I can't undo what I did or take back the words I said when I ended things but I need you to understand that letting you go was the biggest mistake I ever made."
"You keep saying that but what does it actually mean?" She leaned against the counter beside the stove while close enough that I could feel her body heat. "Are you saying you want to try again or are you just feeling guilty because of
Golden?"
The question hung between us while I added wine to the risotto and watched it sizzle. "I'm saying I never stopped loving you even when I was too stupid to admit it to myself," I said. "I'm saying these past three years without you have been the worst of my life and
having you back here even under these circumstances has made me realize how empty everything was before."
"That's not fair." Her voice shook while she wrapped her arms around herself.
"You can't say things like that when I'm barely holding myself together worrying about our son."
"I know the timing is terrible but I can't keep pretending I don't feel what I feel." I added the final ladle of stock while the risotto reached that perfect creamy consistency.
"You asked what it means and I'm trying to be honest instead of
hiding behind duty or obligation or any of the other excuses I used three years ago."
She was quiet while I stirred in the parmesan and butter to finish the dish before turning off the heat. The silence stretched between us heavy with everything unsaid while I plated the risotto and pulled the garlic bread from where it had been warming in the oven.
"Come eat," I said while carrying the plates to the small dining table near the window.
Cecelia followed slowly while
sitting down across from me with her eyes fixed on the food like she couldn't quite believe I'd actually made it. She picked up her fork and took a small bite while her eyes closed briefly.
"It tastes exactly like I remembered," she said after swallowing. "How did you manage that?"
"I might have made it a few dozen times over the past three years trying to get it right." I took a bite of my own food while
watching her face for reactions. "It was the only way I could feel close to you when
everything else reminded me you were gone."
She set down her fork while staring at me with an expression of disbelief. "Why are you telling me all this now?"
"I almost lost you permanently. I thought you were dead. It made me realize I can't waste any more time being too proud or too scared to admit how I feel." I reached across the table and covered her hand with mine while the bond
flared hot between us. "I love you Cecelia and I never stopped loving you."
