a story. part 12.

after about a week, he started to talk to her again slowly. at first, he stood silently across the kitchen while she chopped garlic and basil and crusty bread - just so she would know he was there. and every five chops or so, she'd look up from her knife and lock eyes with his. but she'd never been very good at staring contests. so, she'd get back to the task at hand and he'd keep watching her. memorizing the way her face scrunched up when she couldn't get the slices just the way she wanted them. imagining his arms around her waist and his body pressed tightly into hers.

when they'd first met, he'd asked her if she thought she could be still long enough for him to memorize her face. and she had replied, "yes, i think so."
one night, he made her prove it to him. they sat in a room and he held her face with his hands and instructed her to close her eyes.
she did and he went to work memorizing every detail.
every freckle.
the way her eyes moved beneath the lids.
the curl in her hair.
the shape of her mouth.

when she tried to open her eyes and move, he said, "shhhh. be still. you can do it."
and so she did it.
she'd never been more still in her life.
even her heart was still that night in that place. it was a calm that she kept going back to. in between chops and slices and dices and locking eyes with him across the room, she kept remembering being still. and how honest and right it felt to let him look at her like that.