A little joy with your wine, Sir?

I watched in amusement as her brows furrowed in frustration while her delicate hands attempted to manipulate the large knife she was using to chop the carrots so meticulously.

"Are you positive you don't need a hand?" I asked, already knowing the answer.

"No, no. It's fine. I've got it."

We'd been doing this once a week for a few months now, but this is the first time we'd opted to stay in. She insisted she wanted to cook for me, and who was I to refuse her?

We were comfortable enough now, between the two of us to enjoy each other's company without the constant need for conversation. Which was fortunate, because she was far too focussed on preparing the meal to distract herself by chatting to me. I didn't mind. She had no idea that just observing her was my favourite pastime.

The look of concentration and determination on her face was adorable. She must have been using an incredible amount of self-control to avoid asking for my help. I could tell she was struggling, but I also knew how much it meant to her, so I let her be.

After wrestling with the carrots for what seemed like forever, she finally threw the ingredients in the pot and turned it on to boil. "A one-pot meal is always a safe choice when cooking for company," Her mother always said.

I swallowed my urge to interrupt as I watched her head for my wine cabinet. I suppressed the urge to shudder when she pulled out a rather expensive bottle of Shiraz. I knew she was trying to impress me. She must have taken note of what I said when we went to the restaurant last week. "If you're not sure, go for a Shiraz. It compliments almost every dish, so it's a safe bet".

I smiled to myself as she pulled the corkscrew from the draw and looked from one hand to the other contemplating her next move.

"Okay..." she sighed. "You win. Can you help me, please? I can't open this"

I obliged, unscrewing the cork with ease and handing the bottle back to her. She poured me a very generous glass. I should've mentioned that you never fill to the rim... But I appreciated the gesture. She poured herself a glass of water and took a sip before taking the ready-made picnic basket she had outside.

I could see her from my position at the kitchen counter. The backyard backed onto the lake and at this time of year was the perfect spot to watch the sun go down. She made sure to lay the picnic rug out at the optimum vantage point, where we would be able to see the sun dip down over the crest of the hill right after it turned the sky a brilliant rainbow of red, orange, blue and pink. She placed a pillow down for each of us and set a small fold up table up in between. She carefully placed the cutlery in position. She was taking so much care to make everything perfect.

She stood back, admiring her handiwork. She smiled so big, it reached all the way to her ocean-blue eyes. She was genuinely pleased with herself.

I loved it when she smiled. Her happiness was the reason for my every breath. If I managed to make her smile, it brought me an indescribable amount of joy. But if I managed to make her laugh... That sound was a symphony, filling my heart until I was sure it might burst.

I was startled from my thoughts when she burst back into the kitchen. Always in a rush. Others would chide her for it, but I found it to be one of her most endearing qualities. She put relentless energy into everything she did, no task seemed unimportant, no matter how small.

"It's almost ready. You go outside and I'll bring it out in a sec."

I nodded and headed out back. I sipped my shiraz as I stared out at the lake. It was a beautiful setting. I felt relaxed... content. A pang of guilt hit me as my wife came to mind. She would've enjoyed an evening like this.

"It's ready!" she announced as she made her way to the picnic setting. "Dig in, before it gets cold!"

"Looks delicious!" I said as I examined the steaming bowl in front of me. What exactly was I about to eat? Chicken? Beef? It was hard to tell amongst the roughly chopped vegetables and thick broth. Was it supposed to look creamy?

"Well, what are you waiting for?" She stared at me, expectantly.

I took a large spoonful and brought it to my mouth. I suppressed my urge to gag. It was the worst thing I'd ever tasted. I looked up to see her hopeful eyes burning into mine.

"So good..." I managed to choke out from my still full mouth. I managed to swallow and smiled at her warmly. That seemed to keep her at bay for the time being. No doubt she'd scold me after she tried it for herself. In truth, it could have been a bowl of boiled dirt and I'd have eaten it if it was important to her. She had me wrapped around her little finger from the first moment I ever laid eyes on her. I think she knew it too.

Before she could take a bite, we both noticed the daylight beginning to fade. We stared at the horizon in comfortable silence, appreciating the beauty before us.

She got up from her seat across the table and came to sit beside me. She softly rested her head on my shoulder and I gently draped my arm around her.

As the sunset came to its spectacular peak, she sighed deeply.

"Was it a good date?" She almost whispered.

"Oh yes. It was a great date. Probably the second-best date I've ever been on."

She looked up at me with a puzzled and slightly disappointed expression.

"What was the first-best date?"

"The first date I ever had with your mother..." I stared straight ahead hoping she wouldn't notice the moisture building behind my eyes in the poor lighting.

She wrapped her arms around me and hugged me tightly.

"Would she have liked this date, Dad?"

"She'd have loved it, sweetheart." I placed a soft kiss on the top of her head as we watched the sun finally disappear behind the horizon.

"I miss her..."

"I miss her too.."

She sat back on her side of the table and took a spoonful of her creation.

"Dad! You lied to me, this is so gross!"

We laughed until our bellies hurt and our tears disappeared. It really was the second-best date I'd ever had.