38. Chapter 38

Alex is used to being around people who love food.

Mostly Kara.

And now, Maggie.

But Maggie’s love of food is different than Kara’s, because Kara will threaten Alex will heat vision to get herself the last potsticker.

But Maggie? Maggie is a food sharer.

Every time something passes her lips that makes her eyes roll back, that makes her chew slowly, that makes her moan in a way that makes Alex jealous of her fork, she wants to share the sensation with Alex.

And she does.

“Alex, here,” she’ll say, her hand hovering under the spoon, under the fork, under her sauce-drenched finger, as she feeds Alex across the table, over the chair, across the negligible distance between their bodies, whether they’re in a five-star restaurant or the bar or Alex’s kitchen, which Maggie commandeers nightly.

And Alex always turns, Alex always leans in, Alex always opens her mouth and Alex always smiles and Alex never thinks anything of it, because it is Maggie and it is happiness and it is perfect.

One night, a bit of Maggie’s homemade strawberry ice cream drips down her chin because – “Alex, here, this is so good!” – she’d wanted the ice cream and Maggie’s lips, so now they’re laughing and Maggie is wiping her chin and they’re looking into each other’s eyes and Alex just realizes.

Realizes that she has never done this before. That she has never wanted to do this before. Because this intimacy, this constant invasion of her personal space that is Maggie Sawyer?

A few months ago, it would have been foreign and it would have been unwelcome and it would have been out of the realm of possibility.

And now? Now it was every day, and now it was melting in her mouth as her heart melted along with her body, and now she knows there is no better way to experience food. To experience intimacy. To experience love.