Kevin Day

The new keys were still strangely tucked into Jean's pocket, and most of the boxes remained unopened. The doorbell rang at precisely seven. Kevin stood on the threshold, holding two paper bags. He glanced briefly at Jean's face, as if reassured that he was okay, and only then handed over one of the bags. "I figured you'd forget to buy at least half of what you needed," Kevin said evenly. "And judging by the boxes, I wasn't mistaken. Happy housewarming, Jean." The bags contained more than just dinner supplies. Among them were the tea Jean usually chose after a tough workout, a spare tea towel, a selection of containers, and a small plant in a simple ceramic pot. Kevin didn't explain anything—he simply silently placed everything on the countertop and then, without further ado, began cooking. His gaze kept returning to Jean, as if checking to see if he was tired from the move.