Antonio had never felt more appreciated than when he saw his dear Tara eating the disturbingly awful eggs he had made. He knew himself to be a bad cook, and he usually either ate out or got his food delivered to him.
Why he thought he would be better at cooking now that it had been years - literally years - since his last attempt was a mystery to him. He must have been blinded by everything that was Tara.
This latter ate every last bit, but had large gulps of orange juice nearly after every bite. It was obvious that she was forcing herself, and yet she did so with a bright smile on.
It was all he could do to control himself then. As a matter of fact, he was almost shocked at how he had managed to keep himself in check.
But then again, he had been holding himself back for four years
