You Must Be the One

Orange- Warmth

I was walking along minding my business
When love came and hit me in the eye
(Flash, bam, alakazam)
Out of an orange colored sky

-Orange Colored Sky

They say that it's the larger than life moments you recall when you first fall in love with someone. The first meeting, that first kiss, first date. And those firsts do stick out, they are important and special.

But it's the seemingly insignificant things Bradley remembers, the nuances that somebody else might have missed or overlooked. 

He keeps these close to him, these spontaneous instances, the small seconds of happiness that he can't voice aloud, not to anyone, least of all himself. But they're his to have and he holds onto each and every one, clings to the way that they create this wild, completely unexpected joy.

 *A Moment*

"Eating makes me so happy."

Blissfully, she closed her eyes, chewing on the homemade rigatoni as if it were some delicacy, like they were dining at a Michelin restaurant in Rome and not in his backyard under a willow tree on a blanket he'd randomly found in the linen closet.

He found himself dropping his own fork, fascinated by the way she savored each bite. The veins in her neck contracted and relaxed. Her fingers curled delicately around the top of her fork, spearing another piece of pasta with her eyes still tightly shut.

He didn't mean to stare and if she happened to catch him, he would be mortified. They were just getting to know one another, just beginning to engage in character work. She was just so beautiful. Every movement she made was precise, smooth, but there was a freedom present there, too, a spontaneity, an ease in her own skin that seemed like a rarity in the town they lived in.

A sigh escaped and as she began to come back to her surroundings, he realized his attention was focused on the swell of her throat as she swallowed. Immediately, he averted his gaze to his food.

She smiled, sliding her oversized sunglasses back down onto the bridge of her nose. "I can't believe you can make pasta like this. Thanks again for lunch."

He shrugged, lowering his chin. "You're welcome. It was the least I could do...I'm constantly in your refrigerator when I come by."

"That just says you're comfortable. Means a lot to me, actually. Feels... normal, if that makes sense."

A shadow passed over her features, the smile fading in its wake and gently, he placed a hand on her shoulder.

"Makes perfect sense."

"Anyway, this is delicious. I haven't made fresh pasta in forever. Probably also because I haven't had much of an appetite lately."

He liked that she never shied away from speaking about sensitive things. She was unusually forthcoming and honest, two of the qualities he admired most in a person.

But he could tell when something was very painful, too fresh, and he tried his best to reassure her that she didn't have to go beyond her comfort level, in not so many words.

"Eating makes me happy, too," he offered. "Brings back good memories. I don't know if I ever told you, but my Nonna lived with us toward the end of her life. She's the one who showed me how to make homemade pasta. My mom was an excellent cook, but Nonna was the best."

"Is this her recipe?" Stefani's eyes lit up and he nodded, glad that he could help her brighten up a little. "So good. My grandmas' still cook, too, but they're both starting to slow down some, you know?"