Between Kisses and Cries

After spending the morning exploring downtown, we arrived at the house around 11 a.m. I rushed to the kitchen to whip up something for the both of us—Venetian crab linguine and a refreshing tropical juice blend. While I was focused on cooking, Levi strolled in, grabbed a can of soda from the fridge, and came up behind me.

"That smells so good," he said, his voice warm. He leaned in, planting a trail of small kisses from just behind my ear down to my shoulder.

"Levi! That tickles," I laughed, twisting to face him. I cupped his face and kissed the tip of his nose. "Let me finish cooking, okay?" I added, stealing a quick peck on his lips.

He stayed behind me, watching me cook. "It looks appetizing," he commented once I plated the dish.

"You think? Well, wait until you taste it," I replied with a laugh. A memory of my mom's constant critiques flashed through my mind—how she'd scold me for my early kitchen disasters, and how one day, somehow, I'd finally mastered her ways.

"This looks fancy. Where did you learn to cook like this?" he asked, curiosity sparking in his eyes.

"Mom made me do it. At first, I hated it—I only wanted to eat her food, not make it. But she insisted," I began, smiling at the memory.

"Eh? Then what happened?" he asked, tilting his head like a puzzled child.

"She'd always complain about how bad I was. But she made me keep trying. Eventually, I fell in love with it, and one day we realized I could cook exactly like her." My voice cracked slightly. I missed her so much.

Levi watched me quietly, sensing there was more I wasn't saying. So I continued.

"I don't usually cook for people who knew her. They always say it tastes like her cooking. They bring her up, and it hurts. I only cook for those who didn't know her—so she stays out of the conversation." A tear slipped down my cheek. I couldn't hold it in any longer.

"I miss her so much. I can't stand my hometown anymore. Everything and everyone reminds me of her. So I ran away, even though they're the ones who took care of me." I buried my face in Levi's chest, sobbing as if I were a child again, crying to my father. He wrapped his arms around me and kissed the top of my head.

"It's okay. Don't hold it in anymore," Levi said, holding me tight. It was the most comforting hug I'd received in a long time.

"I wish I never grew up. That way, I could've stayed with her forever," I mumbled into his chest.

"It hurts so much. Every day it gets harder. When she left me, everything changed. The world felt too big, and I felt so small—so alone." I kept pouring everything out, and Levi listened quietly, not interrupting, just letting me be heard.

"Don't cry, Portia," he whispered, wiping away my tears with his thumb. "You can stand alone. You learned from her, and that's made you who you are today—brave and ready for whatever comes. Make her proud."

He kissed my forehead like Dad used to do with Mom. Then he grinned and flicked my forehead. "Now stop crying, you look like Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer. Or maybe a drowned swan."

I burst out laughing through my tears. "Thanks for the pep talk and the insult," I said, wiping my face with the sleeve of my sweater.

"Let's eat before the food gets as cold as the grave," I said, changing the subject.

As I turned to grab the plates, Levi pulled me back into a hug. "I'm always here to listen, lady," he reminded me.

"Thank you. I feel so much lighter now," I said, resting my head on his shoulder.

He ruffled my hair. "Don't keep it all inside."

I looked up at him. "You too, Levi. Let your guard down with me. I'm here to support you too—every piece of you."

He smiled and kissed me. "You're more than enough. Let's just savor this moment."

He grabbed the plates and headed to the dining table. I stood in the kitchen, watching his back.

When will you trust me the way I've trusted you, Levi? I've already given everything I have left to you.

He called back to me, breaking my thoughts. "Hey lady, you said let's eat before it gets cold, but it's already freezing."

I quickly joined him. "What were you thinking back there?" he asked as I sat down.

"Nothing. Just… cleaned my eyes," I deflected.

He nodded and took a bite. "It's lovely. Tastes amazing."

"Really? That's good to hear."

"Cook more for me," he said between bites, looking far too handsome for someone enjoying crab linguine.

We finished eating and washed the dishes together. The moment felt so picture-perfect, I decided to film it—a small memory to keep, win or lose. I wanted to capture every unforgettable second.

Later, we watched a horror film. I jumped at every scare, which made him laugh, and we ended up in a silly pillow fight. He eventually fell asleep on the couch beside me, snuggling close. I couldn't sleep, so I carefully slipped away and grabbed my iPad.

I sketched him while he slept. I didn't notice how much time passed until he stirred and sat up, catching me in the act. Thankfully, I had just finished—a near-photographic realism of him, peaceful and beautiful.

Then a sharp cramp seized my hand, and I winced.

"What did you do?" he asked, concerned.

"It's fine. Just an artist's pain," I assured him.

"Eh?" His brows furrowed in confusion.

I smiled. "Let's have some cookies and tea," I said, pulling him with me back to the kitchen.