A noodle for your heart. -Short story.

"So was it love at first sight?" they asked.
They looked at each other and he gave her a reluctant eye.
"Well", she said "It was his cooking that first won my heart"
They all laughed and drank some more of their wine. He was a cook at a french cuisine restaurant and she was working as a manager of a coffee shop just a short block away from their street entrance apartment on the lower east side.
When he'd met her, she did not cook atall, however, she did make a good cappuccino. He'd always admired the way she carefully handled the cups and saucers as she placed it on the breakfast table next to him. It was almost as if she was his own personal coffee connaisseur.
She looked over at him drinking his wine, swirling it in his cup. She envied him, what was he doing? Just cause he was a cook did he have to act like he knew everything about wine as well. Smelling at it, humbly agreeing with the waiter that it was good enough.
"So do you guys eat excellent food all the time?"
She laughed in her head as she wondered if they knew that she'd been doing some cooking since the restaurant had lost a cook he'd been working double and was too tired to cook when he got home, which she understood because he did cook all day.
He smiled and replied "Certainly not we would have a far too expensive grocery bill, and imagine the left overs if we ate like at work" He thought about their dinner the other night, he'd never taught her how to cook but she had picked up a few of his habits which worked in her favor.
"I do some of the better cooking anyway!" she said half jokingly. She liked to watch him squirm. She has been making dinner lately and he never said a word about it but the expected "thank you, was good" Had he just been putting up with her cooking all this time or did he actually enjoy it. Maybe he just didnt say anything after dinner as he would wash and she would dry the plates. She knew, that he knew, thatd shed be upset if he were to criticize her cooking.
It had happened just like that a few months prior where he commented on how to brown mushrooms. A comment about mushrooms left her alone for two nights. They had fought so wildly he left for his mums for 1 night 2 days. 24 hours into their argument she text him saying that 'she was hungry and didnt know what to eat anymore'. A far cry from an apology, but a bargain plea for him to return.
She smiled at him drinking the last sip of his glass.
He knew what she was thinking, about the fight they'd recently had about cooking. He could tell by the way she bit her lip after she'd made that joke. No one suspected conflict in the kitchen when ultimately it seemed he would be the only one using it. The day after the argument he felt bad after he'd read her text message. So like her to not apologize but ask him back indirectly. He had gone back later that day, sparing a few hours at to help his dad move some wood into the house for the winter. He returned to find a cup of cappuccino with the foam in a perfect heart. She'd taught him to do that by running a knife through the center of the foam. The cappuccino was unfortunately cold, he put a pot of hot water on the stove and thought about what to do with it while it came to a boil, he craziest ideas always came to him in the moment. He chose something easy instead, made dinner and they ate together and talked over their glasses.
Maybe, he thought, they were only together cause he could cook and she would die of bland cuisine if he left for too long, maybe he liked the occasional heart in his cappuccino, he didn't know. If he could keep someone by doing the only thing he knew how to do well then i guess that was good enough.