I don’t even realize how hungry I am until I’m watching Oliver in his element in the kitchen, tugging up the sleeves of his sweater and holding up food. My stomach growls and I huff out a soft laugh, nodding as I shove the corkscrew down into the wine bottle. I twist it and my stomach drops, nose scrunching as I’m reminded of that night. It’s just a second and I shake it away, clearing my throat and looking over at him.
“That sounds great,” I tell him sincerely, blowing out a breath as I yank the cork out of the bottle and pour us both a generous glass. It takes a lot to resist the urge to chug straight from the bottle, and that’s something, I guess.
“I feel like I should probably eat a vegetable.” I have no idea what we even have on hand because Oliver had to go to the store. I feel so grateful for him that my knees go weak, and also just the slightest bit guilty.
“Thank you for taking care of me,” I say as I reach for my wine, though I’m sure I don’t need to. He knows. God, I hope he knows. “You’re a really good husband, Oliver.”
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“That sounds great,” I tell him sincerely, blowing out a breath as I yank the cork out of the bottle and pour us both a generous glass. It takes a lot to resist the urge to chug straight from the bottle, and that’s something, I guess.
“I feel like I should probably eat a vegetable.” I have no idea what we even have on hand because Oliver had to go to the store. I feel so grateful for him that my knees go weak, and also just the slightest bit guilty.
“Thank you for taking care of me,” I say as I reach for my wine, though I’m sure I don’t need to. He knows. God, I hope he knows. “You’re a really good husband, Oliver.”