The Devil's Wedding Ring
I descended the last few steps and approached the island. He pulled out a stool for me, his hand hovering near my waist until I was seated. The smell of the arrabbiata was intoxicating, bright, spicy, and rich.
"Eat," he said, hovering over me for a second before taking his own seat. "I put extra chili in. I want to see if you can handle the heat, or if you're just as soft as the tabloids say."
I took a bite, the spice hitting the back of my throat instantly. It was searing, painful, and incredible. It forced me to be present. It forced me to feel something other than the hollow ache in my ribs.