She takes honey in her tea. Ben made a mental note. He didn't know why. It probably wouldn't come up often, if ever; in social settings it was typically the hostess, or at least a woman, who made the tea for everyone, so he wouldn't have many occasions to fix it for her. It just seemed like the sort of thing he ought to know. Little details he could hang on to in the future for some kind of proof that he'd loved her once. He wasn't sure who he would be proving it to, or in what context. Maybe just proving it to himself, once whatever happened next was over and the dust had settled.

There was nothing to do with the food for the moment, since he was just waiting for vegetables to boil. Hesitantly, he took the seat across the table from her. The chair was uncomfortable — the table in the kitchen wasn't really designed for them to eat at, but rather for servants, if their household ever grew to the point where they needed more than just an occasionally maid and a cook. The nurse, soon enough. If they made it that far.

Ben found a little knick in the tabletop and ran his fingernail along the edge of it. He chewed his lower lip. He didn't know what to say.

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