When the Cable Died

The spinach stuck between Marcus's incisors like a dark secret, and Elena decided not to tell him. It was their third anniversary, or what passed for one in a relationship that had migrated from his apartment to hers without either of them quite deciding it. The candlelight caught the green fleck when he laughed—a genuine sound, rare these days.

"You're not eating," he said, pushing the wilted spinach toward her.

Outside, lightning fractured the sky, a sudden violent crack that made the windows shudder in their frames. The television flickered once, twice, then died completely.

"Cable's out," Marcus said, reaching for his phone like a lifeline. "Reported outage in our area. Could be hours."

Hours. The word hung between them, heavy with possibility. Without the screen's blue glow filling the room's silence, without the mindless chatter of reality shows to cushion the gaps in conversation, they were left with each other. With everything they'd been avoiding.

"Remember when we talked about Paris?" Elena asked, her voice smaller than she intended.

Marcus's hand paused over his wine glass. "That was two years ago."

"We could still go."

"We can't even afford to fix the cable, Elena."

Another lightning strike, closer this time. The thunder followed like an afterthought, and the room plunged into deeper darkness when the power finally surrendered. In the sudden blackness, Elena felt Marcus's hand find hers across the table—awkward, tentative, like touch was something they'd forgotten how to do.

"I got the promotion," he said quietly. "I was going to tell you tonight."

"Marcus—" She could hear the smile in his voice, and something in her chest cracked open, not quite like lightning but something slower and warmer.

"We could go to Paris. Not this year, but next. After I save a little."

"What about the spinach?" she whispered.

"What?"

"Never mind."

In the darkness, with the cable dead and the storm raging outside, she leaned across the table and found his mouth with hers. The spinach was still there, faintly metallic and earthy against her tongue, and it was the most honest thing either of them had tasted in years.