We built a kitchen, you and I. First, years ago: a place of stolen kisses when the children weren’t looking. We blinked, and our kitchen became their school, their land of life lessons: this is how grown-ups live and work and love… and kiss. They giggled when we kissed. Then it was time, and they left.
We built a new kitchen. We kissed here, blatantly and with flourish. We laughed, got pissy, created, and fed each other. I made you hummus. We made spiced nuts. You made me dinner (so many times!). I made you crazy and you made me laugh.
I made you mousse with your favorite ingredient from our wedding cake. You make me love.