He speared a piece of chicken and dunked it into the mountain of potato. "Did ... did you cook this?" he asked.
Lois laughed loudly. "Me?" she exclaimed. "No, I can't cook."
Her laughter had cinched tension through his shoulder muscles, but they relaxed again at her explanation. "You can't cook?" he asked in a soft voice that held no hint of reproof.
"Nope," she said easily. "Uncle Mike - he owns the restaurant that provided our meals - has been offering to teach me for years, but I've never had either the time or the inclination."
"I ... can ..." His fork paused on the way to his mouth. "I ... thank you ... for the food." He captured her eyes again. His words were simple and understated. The depth of his gratitude was not.
Lois dropped her gaze to her food. "Which meal did you like the best?"
"Probably the first one," he said.
"The chicken and vegetables?"
He nodded. "Just because it was the first."
The first in such a long time.
Neither of them said it, but Lois figured they were both thinking it.
Lois chewed slowly as she contemplated her next question. It was slightly precarious, but she decided to ask anyway. "Is there any food you really, really miss? Any particular food you crave?"
She could see that he had an answer but wasn't sure about vocalising it.
"Go on, Clark," Lois prompted with a small chuckle. "Tell me."
"I ..."
"You what?"
"I like it when you say my name."
Thanks!
Corrina.
