Love in a Roast
Tom and Emily had just come back from the supermarket. Laden with shopping bags, they carried everything into the kitchen and started unpacking. Tom, distracted by his phone, suddenly turned to Emily with a faint smile and said:
“Em, love, go have a rest. I’ll whip up something special… my signature dish. A roast!”
“You can cook a roast?” Emily froze, her mouth slightly open in surprise.
“Yeah, course I can. What’s the big deal?” He seemed genuinely puzzled.
“No, it’s just…” She covered her face with her hands and started crying silently, as if a dam had burst inside her.
Tom hesitated, then moved closer and sat beside her.
“Em, what’s wrong? Did something happen?”
It took her a moment to speak, but when she did, her voice was shaky.
“No one… in years… has cooked a roast for me. Not once. My mum did, ages ago… Then it was just me, always cooking for someone else. And him… Mark… he just ate, drank, went out… And I kept holding everything together.”
Tom looked down. He knew Emily had recently divorced. And he knew how hard it had been.
The divorce from Mark was inevitable. He’d gone off the rails just before their family holiday, never showed up at the station where Emily and their son, Oliver, were waiting. That’s when she knew—enough was enough. No more pretending.
At first, there was relief. Nights without slamming doors or drunken rambling in the kitchen. No fridge raids at 3 a.m. No reeking of booze and smoke. Just quiet. Just peace. But after six months, the quiet became suffocating. It pressed in on her.
Yes, she had Oliver. She had her job, her closest mates. But there was no one to lean on. No warmth. No comfort.
Desperate for a change, she turned to her brother, Ben.
“Don’t suppose you know anyone decent? Someone who doesn’t go off on benders or trample all over your heart?”
Ben lit up.
“Actually, yeah. Tom. He’s straightforward, but solid. Not exactly a model, but a good bloke. Trust me, I wouldn’t steer you wrong.”
On their first date, Tom seemed too ordinary to Emily. Slim, lanky, with a face far from magazine-perfect. Unassuming, but… his eyes were kind. Real.
“Give it time,” she thought, and decided to try. Things couldn’t get worse.
The first few dates were awkward, hesitant. Then Tom suddenly vanished for a week. Emily assumed she’d scared him off. She felt hurt, embarrassed. Then he reappeared—with flowers and a cake.
“Got called away for work. Sorry I didn’t warn you.”
After that, they saw each other more. Walks, chats. She kept Oliver out of it, afraid to jinx the fragile warmth growing between them.
One day, they bumped into each other outside the shops. The bags were heavy—naturally. Tom waved it off.
“I’ve got the car. Let’s chuck them in the boot.”
“You have a car?” She blinked.
As they loaded the shopping, Mark stumbled over. Drunk, as usual. Face twisted with spite. He took one look at Tom and sneered.
“Well, well. Found yourself a new bloke, eh? And here I am, wanting to see my son!”
“Ex?” Tom murmured.
“Yeah…” Emily sighed.
“Not today, Mark,” she said quietly.
“Ooh, scared now! And you—watch your back, mate!” Mark swayed off.
Tom bit his tongue. For Emily’s sake.
At home, Emily silently unpacked the groceries. Then she sank onto a stool and hugged herself.
“Shaken up?” Tom asked softly.
“Yeah.”
“Still love him?”
“No. Buried that long ago. Just scars left.”
“Then there’s still a future. Rest up. I’ll make that roast.”
“You really can cook one?”
“Course.”
And again—tears. From exhaustion. From the sheer relief of having someone who didn’t take, didn’t demand, didn’t wreck—just wanted to make her a meal.
Tom busied himself in the kitchen. Emily dozed off in the living room. He tucked the blanket around her, drew the curtains. Paused—then brushed a hand over her hair, like she was something sacred.
Suddenly—a noise at the door.
“Oliver?” he thought.
But it was Mark.
A minute later, the door slammed shut behind him.
“Try that again and see what happens,” Tom muttered, then went back to check the potatoes.
Half an hour later, Emily wandered in, stretching. She smiled.
“Someone come by?”
“Must’ve been a dream,” he said gently.
But in his head: “I’ll protect her. Always.”
That evening, Emily said,
“I want you to meet Oliver. And… I’m changing the locks tomorrow.”
A month later, they married. Ben was thrilled. He kept telling Oliver,
“That’s your dad. Proper one. Look after him.”
And the boy nodded.
That night, Tom made roast again. Still amazed that real happiness could start this simply. Real happiness—built on love, kindness… and an ordinary roast.
