Free Touch by Sarah White

with me. I promised him I would look for the knife when the workers are finished in my apartment and he agreed to make the drive here to get it.
                  As I open the door to leave Noah’s room, I hear the sound of soft music playing in the kitchen. I follow the melody and find Noah stirring something on the stovetop and drinking a glass of white wine. There is an empty glass beside him on the counter next to the bottle, and I’m glad I’m not alone. Noah turns his head and smiles that killer smile as I move in next to him. I lean back on the counter as he pours me a glass and hands it to me.
                  “You okay?” he asks.
                  “For now,” I answer and take a long sip of the cool wine. He nods his head and returns his attention to the butter and mushrooms he is sautéing in the pan in front of him.
                  “Need to talk about it?”
                  “I’ve never had a friend that was a therapist before.” I hesitate for a minute, trying to decide what I should discuss with him and what would be better kept to myself. “You must be tired of hearing other people’s problems all day…”
    “I’m a good listener,” he coaxes.
                  I smile at him and take another sip. “Would it be terrible if I didn’t want to talk about it? I feel like I could analyze Lyle all day and still not understand where he’s coming from.” Noah’s crooked smile causes my stomach to do a little flip.
                  “Actually, I think that might be for the best. I’m here to listen any time, but I hate that he gets so many of your daily thoughts.” He turns the flame down to low and uses the tongs to flip the chicken. It smells wonderful.
                  “Where did you learn to cook?” I put down my glass so I can hop up onto the counter. I’m really appreciating the show as he cooks with one hand and holds his wine in the other.
                  “My mother is an excellent cook. She taught me a few dishes and the rest I’ve perfected on my own.”
    “I’ve never had a man cook for me before. This is nice. Do you want me to help?”
                  “Nope, I want you to sit back and relax.”
    “Gladly!” I take another sip of my wine. “So tell me a little more about your study. How many couples have you worked with?”
                  “I’ve worked with about a hundred myself, and the other therapists have done the same. All the work is complete; I just need to code about twenty more videos. As long as we can show that there’s consistency between the people coding the videos, we should be able to move on to computing the data.” He takes two plates from the cupboard and turns off the burners.
                  “What will other psychologists do with the data?” I watch as he arranges the chicken and mushrooms on the plates.
                  “It depends on the results. Right now it looks like my hypothesis is correct. If the numbers back me up, and I’m pretty confident they will, I suppose future clinicians will stress touch in relationships.” He smiles as he lifts the plates from the counter and puts them on the table. I pick up the bottle of wine and his empty glass and follow.
                  We both sit down and I pour him another glass. “What will you do with the results?” How can he study couples every day and not have some faith that relationships can work?
                  “I will know that I’ve been right. It will be the validation I’ve been looking for since I came up with my theory years ago. To keep a relationship alive you have to keep touching. If you’re hoping that I’ll say I’m going to be a changed man and start looking for my happy-ever-after, you’re going to be disappointed.” He takes a bite of his dinner.
                  “I