ELARA'S POV
The chicken was ready at one.
I lifted the lid and the steam came up carrying everything that had been building for three hours, thyme and garlic and the particular depth that only came from time and low heat.
Damien appeared in the kitchen doorway with the reliable instinct he had for meals being ready.
"That smell," he said.
"I know."
"It smells like your description. Like something being solved."
"That's what it is."
He set the table without being asked, the good plates, the ones we used when something warranted them. I noticed and didn't comment because commenting would make it self-conscious and it wasn't self-conscious. It was just what he did now.
We sat.
He took the first bite and was quiet for a moment.
"Tell me what you taste," I said.
He looked at me. "Wh
