When Dreams Live

Together

The hour passed by slow. Unpacking with some laughs and small conversation. Other than that, it was mostly quiet.

Chris was still adjusting to a new partner in the house. While Cynthia was getting used to the quiet.

The quiet she's missed for a long time.

All of her clothes in the dresser. Shirts with the pants and the socks with the under wear. She didn't have much. Only filled half the dresser.

Chris made note to go clothes shopping with her. That way she could have some freedom of what she wanted to wear. When she wanted to wear it.

Cynthia's stomach growls faintly, "If it's not too late, I'll take you up on that dinner." She smiles.

Chris laughs, "Is that a line from a movie?" He was ecstatic. If she was crazed about movies as he was, they'd get along well.

She gets back on her feet, "Every word is from a movie it seems like." She shugs. Still giving him that sweet - and almost mischievous- smile.

The corner of his lip quirks up, "Pasta, tonight?" He raises an eye brow in curiosity.

Cynthia nods in excitement. And hunger as a matter of fact.

"Let's get to the kitchen then!" He quickly stands and follows Cynthia out the door.

"...Now that sounds like a T.V. show line." She couldn't help but smile. It was almost a epidmic in this house.

Chris giggles too.

. . . . .

Ah, the kitchen again. It was a chef's, palace. Wonderland. Dream.

Chris walks to the pantry and retrieves the ingredients. Pasta. Cheese. Tomato sauce. Spices.

Again the air was quite.

Cynthia sat on the bar stools. Fiddling with her fingers on the counter.

Is it okay to be selfish?

Do you need any help? Is a question adults will not agree too.

"Can we make dinner together?" She mumbles.

Yes. Yes. Good. A direct question. Surely he will answer it directly too, hm?

Chris looks at her with a sort of admiration. Praise maybe.

"Yeah," He reaches to take out some pots and pans, "Take some green onions out of the fridge. Along with some kale."

Cynthia gives him an agreeing hum and skips to the fridge. Scanning the cold box of food.

"Chris-"

"Bottom drawer."

"Thank you." She cooes. Rolls of wheels and a soft thump soon follow.

Chris starts filling a pot with water. Watching the bubbles form under the surface and disappear quickly.

Cynthia watches him carefully. The action almost reminded her of her mother's cooking. But that's long gone now.

A 'klank' is heard when he rests the pot on the stove.

Chris extends his hand toward Cynthia, "Can you hand me the pasta?" He keeps close watch on the warming pot. Throwing in salt.

He soon has a box full of pasta in his hand. Ripping the package open and carefully spilling the contents inside the simmering pot.

Chris now turns to a patient girl sitting by the counter.