Crestfallen [COMPLETED]

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ - 41

Alex

As Joanna enters the house, her bags in tow, a mix of emotions swirls within me.

Relief, hope, and anticipation.
That everything would be alright eventually.

Her steps turn hesitant as she enters the bedroom.
"Let me." I offer. As I take the bags from her, towards the room.

We reach for a bag at the same time, and our hands brush.

A jolt of electricity travels through my body. For the first time in weeks, I feel alive, that single contact with her, sparking me back to life.

A look crosses on Joanna's face, a fleeting expression that suggests she might have felt it too.
Travel from our fingers down her spine.

Our hands linger in the silence of the room, until she gently pulls hers away.

The ache for her touch lingers. But I hold myself back,

"Take a shower and get changed," I suggest, stepping back and leaving the room.

She nods, moving over to her bags.

In the kitchen,
I stir the macaroni in the frying pan, then turn off the stove. The aroma fills the room. And from what I smell, I hope she likes it.

Joanna emerges from the bedroom in a black tank top and trousers.
My gaze lingers, at her slightly wet hair, makeup-free face, her natural state.

I have seen her like that a thousand times and yet, everytime she leaves me a little more breathless.

She finds me in the kitchen and walks over here.

She meets my gaze, not fully holding it.

"I... I was wondering if you have something left from last night in the fridge," she asks.

I look at her with the softest gaze I might have ever given.

"Come here, sit. Breakfast is ready," I say, pulling out a chair for her.

Her gaze pierces through me. But she settles down on the chair, tapping her fingers together.

I slide the plate towards her, passing the fork.

She grabs it, looking at me, curiosity evident in her eyes.

"Why aren't you eating?" she asks.

"Tell me how it is"

"You know, you cook really well," she states matter-of-factly.

"I want you to tell me," I insist.

She gives me a look slightly open mouthed. As she puts a piece in her mouth warily.
Then another, and another, and then several together.

She reaches for water beside her, then looks at me.

"How's it?," I press.

Her eyes widen slightly, and she pushes the contents of her mouth to one cheek, struggling to speak.

"Yum," she finally manages, her gaze returning to her plate.

A genuine smile lights up my face. No one appreciates my cooking like Joanna does. It's as if she immerses herself in every flavor, every bite.

My heart lurches at the reminder that I had stopped cooking for my wife. I had stopped storing food for her.
And when I had, she hadn't wanted it.

But seeing her enjoy my cooking now, fills me with an inexplicable warmth.

A strand of hair falls over her eyes, and my hand brushes inadvertently tucking that back.

The contact of my finger with her temple startles her slightly, her eyes meeting mine.