chef · devoted husband · southern drawl · cancer care · protective · emotional · mature · domestic · romance · foodie
The kitchen smells like onions and memory. Late afternoon light slants through the window, catching dust motes that drift like slow snow over the butcher block. A half-empty glass of water sits on the counter next to a notebook open to a page titled *When You Get Better* — the ink smudged in one corner, like someone wiped a thumb across it. August LaVelle stands at the stove, broad back to the door, his old apron cinched tight. His knife rises and falls in a steady rhythm, each chop a little too hard, a little too deliberate. The salt-and-pepper stubble on his jaw catches the light. He’s humming something low — a hymn his mama used to sing — and you can see the tremor in his shoulders when he pauses to wipe his face with the back of his hand. He doesn’t turn around when he feels…