Page 82 of Love Unscripted
He lifted her hands to his lips. “Thank you.”
“For what?” she whispered.
“For this. For having me over. For preparing this meal. For being you. For reminding me that life goes on.”
Tears burned her eyes.
“Look here.” He was holding out his hand. At first she didn’t understand what he was showing her. Then suddenly it hit her. The pale circle of skin around his finger and what it represented.
“Your ring. It’s gone,” she gasped.
Her eyes shot to his.
He nodded slowly.
“Yes. It’s time to move on. Make new memories.”
She blinked back tears as he brought her hand to his lips and kissed it.
Later, asPretty Womanplayed softly, he asked, “Are you lonely?” making reference to the words in the song.
“Not anymore,” she said.
“Neither am I.”
After a moment, he said gently, “Camille… I’m in love with you.”
She gasped. Tears spilled freely. “I feel the same way about you.”
He laughed, joy bright in his eyes.
Luma cleared the dishes, but they barely noticed.
~*~*~*~
Luma returned carrying a large platter of chicken, roast potatoes, and butter-glazed vegetables. Steam curled upward as she set it carefully between them, the warm scent of garlic, herbs, and slow-roasted meat wrapping around them like an invitation.
“How delicious this smells,” he said appreciatively, leaning in.
“Wait until you taste it.”
He didn’t need further invitation. He carved off a piece of chicken, added a generous spoonful of potatoes, and took a bite.
The sound he made was almost indecent.
“You were not kidding.”
“Told you,” she said, unable to suppress the note of pride in her voice.
“I had never heard that Camille Carlucci was a killer cook.”
“Only my close friends know,” she replied lightly. “I cook as an act of service for my loved ones.”
He looked at her then—not teasing this time, but with something deeper, warmer.
“I’m so happy to be counted among that number.” Then, with genuine curiosity, “So how do you get this chicken so soft and good?”
“Low temperature,” she explained. “And constant basting in its own juices.”
