The argument had ruined her throat – scratched raw from shouting at him late into the night. Now he had left, she felt empty and hoarse; tiny tears at the back of her throat preventing her welling up.
Ginger was good for the throat, she had heard.
It took a long time. Gently peeling back the husk and painstakingly stitching them together. Fishing wire sinews. But in time he was done: long knobbly fingers to entwine with hers, dry cracked skin to subtle care for.
His tongue was spry and spicy but he kissed her like he meant it.