My brow grew furrowed and tight as my hands moved across my keyboard in my writing room above my bedroom.

"Hrm.. I don't remember this."

"What?" Taylor was going through my overloaded mahogany desk where I kept most of my original writing in it. He was picking out stuff and asking me about it, the last item that he'd pulled had been a pair of red satin panties that had been a gift from my last live in boy friend, he had left that same day.

"I'm checking my email, and my publisher, Rachel, she said that I agreed to do some interviews this week. Just phone ones, but jeez, I can't remember this."

"What are these?!" Taylor dangled a Tiger and Bop magazine in front of my face. He was on the cover of both. I glared at him.

"A quick fix two years ago." My attention went back to the glowing screen. I had mail from a couple friends in New York and all around. I wrote the times of when the journalists were supposed to call on my hand in black ink and looked up at Taylor. "What now?"

"I cannot believe this. You got a teeny magazine for me."

"Yeah, well such things happen."

"I thought it would've been from a friend as a joke, like the panties." My hands left the keyboard and I turned to him.

"My friends know not to joke about you. It happens to be a really sensitive subject."

"Oh." Taylor turned, almost embarrassed and went back to my desk. "Why, were you embarrassed about it?" My jaw dropped.

"No, of course not, they just knew that we were together, and I'm still nuts about you but won't admit it to anyone. They don't bring it up because I can't deal with it with them. I can deal with it on my own." I returned to writing a letter to my aunt in Vermont.

"Oh, okay." I could almost hear him pause, then resume to snooping.

Later on I had proclaimed that I wanted to make dinner, so we had to go grocery shopping. I refused his offer to drive and we took my '85 Wagoneer. He protested, then asked why I had car like that. I rolled my eyes and simply told him that I didn't like expensive ones, or driving them. I was always happy in my Wagoneer, I took the Four Runner on long car trips. My last garage space was empty, Kris's car had left it, and it looked strange. All the way there he looked at me, puzzled by my delight caused by this funny, old car. I pulled into the Acme parking lot and began to scan for a spot after a long ride into town. The afternoon sun was bright, the day was filled with clear blue sky and the blinding sun. I grabbed my sunglasses and took off my regular ones, slipping on the darkened lenses. Although it was well above the seventies, I was in my usual cargo pants and a tanktop. I rarely got too hot, only when the temperatures dipped in the nineties, it was then that I reluctantly put on shorts

"As much as I don't get why you like this car, I really like your driving style."

"I think I'll take that as a compliment, thanks. And stop making fun of my car, one more time and you find your own damn way home." I punched him lightly in the arm and got out of the car.

As we entered the produce section I shivered, they always make it so darn cold here. I grabbed random samples of fruit and munched while I started to think of what I wanted to make.

"You know, I always told my mom I was going to marry a chef." I mused to myself, it was true though.

"Really? Does that mean I have to take cooking lessons before this goes any further?" I smiled at him.

"You don't know how to cook?"

"I can make eggs. Hello, we have eight kids in the family, we support the take out industry heavily. Mom would have to be insane to cook that much." I gave a low whistle.

"Eight kids... damn... Well how many do you want when you get married?" This was a test, I had no idea how we were going to end up, but the kid thing should be handled right now. Taylor gave me a blank stare.

"Uh, I don't know. I mean it's cool always having someone around. It was definitely interesting, we loved each other a lot, Mom was always really busy though. I really don't know, I think I'll cross that bridge with my wife, it's not all my decision." I stopped the cart and hugged him tightly. "Hey, thanks." He smiled and let go. "And your view on it?"

"Ditto on the last part of what you said."

"Cool. So what're we gonna have for dinner chef?" I pursed my lips, thinking. "I don't know if this is matters, but I like macky and cheese."

"You want me to make macaroni and cheese?" My tone was sarcastic, I was planning to make something that looked impressive.

"Fine then, dazzle me, but I was just letting you know that I liked it." He started walking towards the deli section. Why would he want something so easy? Hadn't he run across anything better in all that traveling he'd done? I sighed, tomorrow night I'd have to go shopping by myself then.

"Taylor! Hey!" I followed him to the deli stand, where he was staring at the ready made deli macaroni and cheese. "We're NOT getting that, I refuse to have ready made stuff in my house. Tough beans. I'll make you some homemade." His smile brightened.

"Okay, let's see if you can beat my mom's."

"You're pitting me up against your mom? Jeez, no pressure or anything."

"I really wish I could paint you." I stopped smiling and looked at him. His face was serious.

"I didn't know that you painted."

"That's what I wanted to do, music is there, but it doesn't come from here as much." He pointed to his chest. "Our parents really didn't encourage anything but the music seriously." He picked up a tomato and started tossing it back and forth in his hands. "A couple months after we released our first national label album, my dad quit his job and became our financier. From then on, we had no choice on whether we were singing or not. Don't get me wrong here Lane, we always will love performing and creating music, but it lost it's glamour after a while, believe me. Zac and I, we've always liked art better. Just a first love." I leaned against the cart and slowed, pushing back my hair from my face, it was getting a little long, around the length of my shoulders.

"Why don't you get some stuff in a gallery? Put on a show? I know some people in New York that run a studio, they'd run it under a fake name for you. Seriously, why don't you?" Taylor looked at me, he seemed almost bitter.

"I haven't taken any classes or anything, it's just a hobby. I wouldn't know how to get it going."

"Leave it to me. I've had stuff sold in their gallery, I do a little art, I took a year of art courses in Europe two years ago. It's small beans compared to what gets in, but I get a pretty nice check from them each month. If you don't want to do it, fine. But every artist I know, whether they be a painter or actor or musician wants to show the world what they've got. Poets on the other hand are reclusive, shy weirdos who usually have OCD. The good ones anyways." I laughed, it was all too true, I had to admit.

"Maybe. Do you know anything Italian?" With that he had ended the conversation.

"Do I know Italian? He asks if I know any Italian dishes?!" I threw up my hands, and grabbed the tomato he had been tossing. "What did you have in mind?" I closed my eyes and held the tomato to my nose, it was ripe and the smell drifted in. The colorful smell reminded me of the last time that we had used tomatoes in my kitchen, Kris and I had made fresh stromboli. They had taken hours to make, but by the end we were feeding each other succulent bites of warm cheese, sausage, pepperoni, and ham. They were so delicious, and had made the long process of creating them well worth it.

"Can you make stromboli?" Taylor was pointing to the deli meat section.

"You're scary, you know that?" His eyebrows raised and he smiled.

"I'll take that as a yes. Cool, what do we have to get?" I gave him a light push.

"Leave that up to the professionals here boy." I scanned the case filled with logs of spiced meats and rows of cheeses, ordering the ingredients I passed the white paper parcels filled with select meats and cheeses to Taylor as I finished ordering them. I ran back to the tomatoes and grabbed a bag full. "For the sauce."

"We're making sauce?"

"Nope, that would take too long, just to make the sauce taste better. Herb it up a bit and add a tomato, and it does taste as if it's homemade."

"Oh, you're going to have to teach me this stuff." Taylor looked uneasily at the numerous white packages of meats in the cart.

"If you don't learn anything from tonight, you're sitting in the bathroom. You'll learn, don't worry."

"How'd you learn?"

"My parents are pretty good amateur chefs, my dad especially."

"That must've been fun."

"Yeah, it's a blast, I love cooking." We walked down the aisle with tomato sauces the different labels showed various Italian scenes, my fingers brushed up against the glass bottles as I searched for my favorite brand.

"Have you ever been to Italy?"

"Nope, I've never gotten there. You?"

"Yeah, it's so beautiful. Pretty romantic, but I was there with my family. It was cool learning about the monuments and stuff. The land is gorgeous." A light smile played on his face with the memory of Italy.

"I'll make a mental note to go there then. Okay, got it. Now we need..hm gimme a minute. Meats, cheeses, sauce. . ."

"Crust?"

"No, we make that, you can't just buy a ready made crust, I know I have yeast at home."

"Dessert?"

"Yeah." I rubbed my hands together, thinking of a raspberry chocolate tart. It would be perfect.

"Can we get ice cream?" My train of thoughts were disrupted.

"No!" My voice was sharp, I was tired of his suggestions, I was used to doing this on my own, or with Kris. "Taylor, if we are going to spend the time making a stromboli, we are not going to spend thirty seconds scooping out ice cream for dessert!" I turned around the cart and made off to the produce section to grab some raspberries.

"Whoa there Lane, hey!" Taylor stopped me. "Hey, it was just a suggestion, I'm not used to someone going to that much fuss over me for dinner. I didn't know you were so damn sensitive over this stuff." I looked down at my hands.

"Sorry."

"Fine, now let's decide on this together? All I made was a suggestion." I paused, over the grocery's weak speakers I heard the faint beginnings of Elton John's 'Blue Eyes'. I closed my eyes and smiled. I felt Taylor taking my hands from the cart and drawing me close to him. We slowly danced to the slow music. I looked into his eyes and smiled, then started laughing. He smiled and began to chuckle. Realizing what we were fighting over was a good feeling, it had been so insignificant.

"I wanted to make a raspberry tart."

"I don't like raspberries."

"Man...strawberries?"

"Right on. I saw they had some in the front." I gently touched my lips to his.

"Let's go."