The Kitchen Light

Delilah put the onions on the kitchen table and kissed Ash before he could ask where she kept the knives.

He set down his bag carefully. That small effort, made while her hands were already inside the open edges of his coat, pleased her so much she smiled against his mouth.

“There are tomatoes in there,” he said.

“In a tin.”

“I was trying to be responsible.”

“You’ve done it. You can stop now.”

He drew her closer. The hallway had been cold; here the heat was coming on beneath the window, making the room smell faintly of warm dust and the basil she had failed to keep alive. His hand settled between her shoulders. She felt the quiet pressure of it through her jumper, then the way he loosened his hold when she moved. She moved nearer.

For days she had been admitting what she wanted in portions she…