Now she needed quiet. A few hours of relaxation. It might be temporary, it might not even be real, but she borrowed the time. She no longer knew what counted as normal but she could try to find a version of it. With him. Tonight.

The plan started with comfortable clothes, some food, and bed. Tonight it would be her own sheets, but he would be with her.

She’d changed into lounge pants and an old university T-shirt from a school she didn’t actually attend. Sitting on one of the two stools at her kitchen island, she had an open view of all the cooking.

Everything about this cottage appealed to her, from the weathered white walls inside and out, to the riot of purple flowers in her front yard in the spring, to this kitchen. The one-bedroom house measured less than seven hundred square feet, but the kitchen had been upgraded well past the value of the rest of the house.

The area spanned most of the open floor plan she could see when she walked in the door. Marble counters. Every appliance and every type of pot and pan. Rumor was the person who lived there before her refurbished the kitchen, then spent a year working on recipes for a catering business. She now worked at a wedding venue in Northern California and Maddie benefitted from both her determination and her passion for food.

“What are we having?” The ingredients fascinated her. A package of noodles, various vegetables, and strips of beef. Bottles and spices sat off to one side. Mushrooms soaked in a bowl of water. She wasn’t sure what was going on there, but she also wasn’t much of a cook. She was more of an expert eater.

“Japchae.”

The word sounded like chopped chey, but she had no idea what it meant. “My food choices have been limited on Whitaker, so fill me in on what this is.”

“Basically, noodles and vegetables.” He held up the package. “Glass noodles. They’re made from sweet potato.”

Sounded good so far. “You got those on Whitaker? I couldn’t find garlic at the store a few weeks ago.”

“Brought them from home.”

She basically brought underwear and she was staying forever. “You’re a serious cook.”

“Not really.” The water boiled and he dropped the noodles in. “I can make the basics. That was a rule in our house growing up. Mom taught everyone. No one got a pass.”

“I like her already.”

“She refused to let me be a useless husband one day. At least, that’s what she repeatedly said.” He heated a pan and added some oil. “I think she was afraid I’d get married, wouldn’t know how to cook, and the whole mess would reflect poorly on her. Either that or she worried I would never move out, and that was not okay with my Korean mother. My job was to work and not just sit around.”