Bon Appetit!

My eyes lingered on his longer than they should have as I handed him his bowl. It was still there in the green that filled up his orbs, a cold emptiness, a space waiting to be filled. But in an instance, it was covered by a smile as the dark green shone brighter.

“Thank you May,” he spoke softly, looking down at the soup swimming in his bowl. “This looks delicious, as does the rest of the food on the table. What is it you’ve cooked?”

“Oh um,” my eyes scanned over the meal I had spent hours making. “The soup I’ve made is curried butternut squash. That’s green pea salad, dad’s favorite. Extra buttery mashed potatoes, also made per dad’s taste. Cranberry sauce in that bowl, and well,” I gestured at the turkey, “a traditional oven-roasted turkey.”

Damien licked his lips, positively drooling at everything set on the table. I fought a smile and sat down on my seat, right next to Damien’s with dad on the other side of the table directly opposite us.

“Sounds delicious.”

“Tastes it too,” my dad complimented, having taken a purposefully loud slurp from his soup. “And don’t forget the dessert.”

“Oh, right. There’s pumpkin pie in the kitchen which I’ll serve later.”

Damien stared at me, eyes wide in awe.

“What?” I asked, starting to blush.

“Nothing. I just didn’t know you could cook.” And as if to prove his point, he took an exceptionally large sip out of his bowl and released a satisfied hum.

“I’m glad you like it,” I said and turned to focus on enjoying my own portion, trying to fight the blush that was making its way to my cheeks (and failing miserably). From there on, the evening started to pick up. Conversation filled the dinner table, mostly between my dad and Damien as I watched, listened, and from time to time, helped serve the food. Unbeknownst to Damien, I kept sneaking in secret glances to judge his reaction to my cooking. And with every smile and compliment he gave, my spirit rose higher.

With him here, Thanksgiving dinner felt more perfect than it possibly ever could.

The End

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