I've been looking online for some inspiration; I love writing, but sometimes there's just nothing you can write about. So I found a list of writing exercises, which I'll be doing every so often. This is the first one.
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Jelly was not his favourite dessert.
He'd prepared what he imagined to be the perfect coming-home present for her; a meal of steak and roast potatoes, with jelly as a dessert. Or, at least, that was what he'd tried to do; during the preparation of the latter, some... rather unfortunate complications had arisen.
Specifically, what had begun as jelly had become mostly a puddle of liquid on the kitchen floor, with some spots of it dotted around the counter. He balled his hands into fists in frustration, but set about correcting the issue. Grabbing a couple of paper towels from the roll, he began to mop up the liquid, squeezing it into the bowl as he did so, hoping fervently that his floor was clean.
Some twenty minutes later, the liquid was all gone from the floor and... mostly back into the bowl. He wiped his forehead in relief at the completion of this arduous task, and began to pour the jelly into each of the decorative bowls, which he proceeded to put in the fridge, praying to the god that he didn't believe in that he wouldn't drop anything. Miraculously, he succeeded - until he breathed in deeply in relief, and caught a whiff of something... odd.
Oh, no. Not the steak and potatoes.
He dove for the oven, pulling the door open and grabbing the dish - before immediately letting go of it, because yeah, idiot, the oven is hot. Great work touching the dish with your bare hands, genius. Oven mitts? None in the house. A towel. Right. Quickly he looked around and took one from the counter, picking up the dish and placing it on the cooling rack. But of course... it would have burned. He almost wanted to slap himself, but that wouldn't necessarily solve anything.
Time to make things right. So, he reached into the cupboard and got out... the plates, proceeding to put the food on them. He was sure she wouldn't mind if it was a little overdone. Some people liked their steak well-done... even if this was a little more than well.
All of a sudden, a loud barking could be heard from outside. The neighbours' stupid dog, who barked at anyone who walked past. Which could only mean... Quickly, he carried the plates (cursing to himself as he held them, for they were still fairly warm) to the table, dimmed the lights to let the candles stand out, and sprinted towards the door. As he opened it, he knew he looked dishevelled - hair a mess, tie wonky, shirt untucked - but, he hoped, charmingly so.
"Hey," said the radiant sight standing before him, looking flawless in a strapless black dress. Her sun-kissed face broke into a huge smile at the sight of him, and without hesitation she embraced him. As she did so, he buried his face in her hair and inhaled... then almost coughed. He loved her perfume, but perhaps, he thought, she overdid it just a little. But why mention it? She was probably just anxious to make him happy on her return. Which he was in any case. Why push it?
"Hey there, gorgeous," he murmured, face still buried in her hair, which showed lighter brown highlights from the sun now. "How was your holiday?" She pulled away from him and pushed her fringe away from her face.
"It was great! Would have been better if you'd come along, of course," she said wryly, "but it was pretty good anyway." She breathed in deeply. "Oh! You made dinner!" Her smile seemed somewhat forced, and he couldn't help but wonder whether she could figure out that he'd burnt dinner.
"Yep, I sure did!" He led her over to the table, and she smiled very widely (and somewhat scarily as a result).
"It looks great, honey!" she said, patting him on the arm. "But why go to all the trouble? I know you don't like to have dinner at the table, I don't mind if we don't."
"I... um... I tried to make this night really special for you," he admitted, flushing slightly. "You know... make it all fancy and stuff."
"Is that what this is?" she said, giggling softly, fixing his tie as she spoke. "Come on. You know it doesn't matter to me. This night is special enough as it is, with me coming home. Dinner and getting dressed up and all that really doesn't matter to me. But it's so sweet that you tried." She drew him into a kiss, and then pulled away and picked up her plate. "Now let's take these somewhere comfy," she said with a grin, and took his hand in her free hand, and took him to the sofa.
"You don't mind that it burned?" he said, still not quite convinced that she was happy. "And that the jelly I made hasn't yet set and probably has floor-dirt on it?"
"I don't mind in the least," she said, looking him right in the eyes, "and I may not end up eating that jelly." She patted the squishy blue velvet of the couch to beckon him to sit down, and (quite bravely) she began to eat the steak and potatoes.
"I love you," he whispered.
"I love you too," she said after a minute of silence, once she had finished her mouthful. "We'll have the jelly in the morning."
PROMPTS: overdone steak; a barking dog; too much perfume; a squishy blue velvet couch
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