Pepper Seeds

Just a shortish story I wanted to write because I was making jambalaya one day.

The fresh, crisp smell of chopped peppers pervaded the house as she quickly sliced them into small chunks, adding them to the cast-iron skillet already filled with diced celery, chopped onion, minced garlic and a generous amount of cooking oil. Humming gently to herself, she gathered up the red and green chunks and tossed them into the skillet, scraping the pepper seeds into the mix with the knife. She didn’t believe him when he said it added extra flavoring, but she humored him all the same. She turned the small dial above the stove, setting it to medium-high before crossing the small but cozy kitchen to the stainless steel sink.

            Turning the tap water to warm, she lathered up her hands with lilac-scented soap and vigorously washed them before crossing to the fridge and pulling out the twin packages of New Orleans style sausage. She tore the package open and pulled out a fresh knife from the wooden knife block, placing it next to the opened sausages. The sound of sizzling oil reminded her to stir the skillet before the ingredients could burn and she pulled open a drawer stocked full of various cooking equipment. She shuffled through the cups and teaspoons before finding the wooden spoon she wanted. Smiling as she hummed, she stirred the contents, savoring the smell.

            She left the spoon in the skillet and returned to the cutting board where she pulled out all the sausages and lined them up, one after the other, before slicing them neatly into small circles. When she was finished, she put them in a large bowl and returned it to the fridge. She then opened up a cupboard next to the fridge and pulled out a can of diced tomatoes, thyme, bay leaves, cayenne pepper, uncooked rice, a box of chicken broth, and dried basil.

            Setting these on the counter next to the cutting board, she grabbed another large bowl from the side sink where it was drying and then proceeded to guesstimate the right amount of seasonings into the bowl, starting with the three cups of chicken broth. She winced then chuckled when she put in too much cayenne pepper before adding a pinch more of everything else.

            She washed her hands again before pulling out the bowl of cut sausages and dumping it into the skillet. The remaining oil sizzled when it came in contact with the sausage, and she gave the mixture a quick swirl with the wooden spoon before pouring it in the seasoning mixture and chicken broth. She set both bowls into the sink and turned the water on before digging through the drawer again, looking for the can opener. She pulled the slick, black can opener free and cranked open the diced tomatoes then chucked the can opener into the sink and poured the tomatoes, juice and all, into the skillet as well.

            She turned the heat up for a few minutes before tearing open the box of rice and pouring a generous helping into the skillet, placing the lid of the skillet on and turning the heat down to simmer. She set the microwave above the stove to fifteen minutes then looked at the sink and sighed before re-rolling up the long sleeves of her light yellow blouse and squirting some pink dish soap onto the messy pile that had accumulated through the cooking process.

            She washed the dishes thoroughly and quickly, casting disdainful looks every now and then at the broken dishwasher, silently damning it to Hell and back. She twisted her head around to the calendar on the wall and double-checked when the repairman would be by to fix it. Tuesday the thirteenth was circled and she sighed; just one more week until they could stop washing dishes by hand and return to the comfort of a functioning dishwasher.

            Smiling when she put the last of the dishes onto the rack in the adjoining sink, she pulled the plug to let the water drain and stared out the window, her eyes roaming over the vegetable garden that always failed to produce anything worth eating, the decrepit toolshed that he was always promising to fix up and the large oak that stood in the center of the backyard and cast a wide pool of shadows in the summer to relax in and beat the heat. She made a mental note to try a new brand of fertilizer this time around for the garden.

            The timer went off and she removed the lid, carefully venting the steam away from her face, remembering the first time she made jambalaya when she didn’t vent the steam and ended up scalding herself. She took a deep whiff and sighed appreciatively before placing the lid on the counter and yanking the fridge door open. She grabbed the bag of shrimp and tore it open with her teeth, spitting out the plastic and poured the deveined shrimp into the skillet. She threw away the plastic and pulled a package of diced ham from the freezer, popping it into the microwave to defrost.

            She leaned against the counter, her butt resting gently on the lip when her eyes landed on the seasonings that she forgot to put away. Her eyes glanced at the clock on the wall and nodded; he wouldn’t be home for at least another twenty minutes which left her plenty of time to finish the preparations. She gathered the seasonings and placed them back into the cupboard before walking out of the kitchen and into the small dining room.

            She drew the heavy curtains and blocked out the setting sun before flicking the lights on. She returned to the kitchen and pulled out two sets of silverware, two glasses and two bowls. She set the table and then walked into the hall and pulled out two long, white candles from the pantry. Grabbing the matching silver candleholders, she returned to the dining room and proceeded to place the candles into the holders and then lit them.

            She stood back and admired her handiwork then snapped her fingers when she remembered the drinks. She rummaged through one of the cupboards beneath the counter until she found the wine bucket his aunt or sister or something like that had given them for their wedding. After filling it with ice, she reached into the fridge again, pulling out two long-necked Budweisers. She put the beer into the bucket and placed the bucket onto the table before running back into the kitchen as the microwave beeped. She pulled the ham out and opened it hastily, scattering ham everywhere.

            Shrugging, she poured the remaining ham into the skillet and stirred it again, checking on the shrimp and making sure nothing was burning. She then grabbed the broom the closet and swept up the ham on the floor and brushed the ham on the counters into the dustpan before realizing that the trash was too full. She shook her head and placed the dustpan on the counter. Tying the garbage bag shut, she grabbed the dustpan with her free hand and walked out the back door and around the side of the house to thrash can, shivering slightly in the rapidly cooling air but she didn’t regret wearing the cutoff shorts he liked so much on her.

            She dashed back into the house and shut the door against the chill wind that had started to blow. Checking on the jambalaya, she reduced the heat to the lowest setting and checked to make sure the salad she bought earlier at the store was still there. Returning to the dining room, she popped in a mix CD of smooth jazz and then danced her way to the main bathroom to make sure she looked presentable.

            She flicked the light on and then closed the door out of habit. Her ebony locked hung down to curl around her shoulders and she toyed with putting them into a ponytail but decided against it. She thought she looked better with her hair down than up, anyways. She touched up her make-up, favoring a light dusting of rouge to give her pale cheeks a splash of color that contrasted nicely with her shirt and hair. Rummaging through cluttered make-up bag, she pulled free an almost-empty tube of strawberry lips gloss. She squeezed out the last bit and applied it to her lips before blowing a kiss to her image and checking to make sure there was no lip gloss on her straight teeth.

            She huffed a breath into her hand and smelt, wincing slightly and regretted the chili cheese dog she had for lunch while running errands. She slipped into their bedroom and emptied the contents of her small purse onto the pristinely made bed, searching for a stick of gum or a mint, anything to make her breath smell better. She swept aside a few tampons and loose change, empty gum wrappers and tattered receipts, a few hastily written numbers and scratched off lotto tickets before finding half a stick of cinnamon Stride gum. She held it up victoriously and did a little jig to celebrate before popping it into her mouth.

            She swept everything back into her purse and placed it in the comfy armchair that took up a corner of the room before dancing her way back to the kitchen, excitement and happiness just about bubbling out of her. She pulled the salad from the fridge and poured into a bowl, fluffing it up lightly before drizzling dressing over it and placing the bowl on the table in the dining room. Returning to the kitchen, she did the same for the jambalaya and placed the steaming skillet on an oven mitt next to the salad, making sure to cover the skillet with the lid; she couldn’t’ let it get cold. Snapping her fingers, she remembered the napkins and salad tongs. She dashed into the kitchen and grabbed the tongs from the drawer and ripped two napkins off the roll on the counter. She placed the tongs gently into the bowl at just the right angle, and then folded the napkins before placing the artistically under the bowls.

            With everything completed, she slumped into a chair and glanced at the diamond ring on her finger, the precious gem ablaze in the light of the candles. She smiled at the ring, remembering their drag wedding, five years ago today. She remembered the neon, paper Japanese lanterns and streamers as well as the neon green dress he wore and her hot-pink tuxedo. She could still remember her in-laws’ faces when they announced that the wedding would be done in drag. And then, not for the first time either, she wondered how two people so set in the old ways could produce and raise such an open-minded son.

            She chuckled lightly as she thought of the way the same neon-green dress had hit the floor later that night. She couldn’t wait for him to get home and see the surprise she planned for him. She returned to the kitchen and checked the clock, smiling as she heard his car door slam shut on cue. She leaned against the archway that led into the living room and cocked her hip, her violet eyes trained on the front door.

            It opened with a gust of cold air and he stepped inside, shivering slightly as he closed it behind him without taking his eyes off her. She started saunter over to him as a smile grew on his darkly stubbled cheeks. She grabbed the bouquet of white roses from his hands and tossed them gently on the couch before helping him out of his coat as he smiled and sighed appreciatively at the scent of cooked jambalaya.

            He flicked his dark blues at the dining room before meeting her eyes and she nodded in response, smile tugging at the corners of her full lips. He started to walk towards the room but she yanked him around by the collar of his starched dress shirt. He smiled and went with it when she pulled him in close by his tie, her fingers quick and nimble as she loosened the red silk. She popped the first two buttons, her fingers trailing down his hardened chest before he growled and pushed her up against the door, a soft sigh escaping her as she smiled.

            He bit his lower lip and looked at her, one finger gently tracing her jawline. She leaned in close but he pulled back, a devilish smile growing. She lunged again but missed, a laugh bubbling out of her as she slumped back against the door in defeat. He laughed with her, their laughs ringing soft, just below the smooth jazz. He pulled her in close and twirled her around and around in time to the jazz, lifting her occasionally off her feet as they dipped and swirled, waltzed and tangoed their way their way around their small but most decidedly comely home.

            It was only after he danced her through the entire house the he leaned in for a kiss. Her soft lips met his, warm and tasting just faintly of coffee and mint, and she couldn’t help but smile. She felt him smile back and then he lifted her off her feet, his strong arms embracing her and evoking feelings of love and longing, comfort and safety.

            He set her down gently and she slipped her hand into his, tugging gently towards the dining room at least, eager to get their anniversary started. He went willingly, laughing as they went and his laughter, like always, was contagious; she was laughing with him by the time they sat down. He pulled out her chair and she sat down, watching as he served up the salads and jambalaya. He twisted the tops off both beers and set on down in front of her before sitting down across from her, raising his beer in a toast.

            She clinked her beer neck against his before both took a long gulp. They ate quickly, washing each spicy mouthful down with a frosty sip of beer. The jazz ended and the wind howled outside and the candles began to sputter in puddles of wax but neither noticed; they were too busy lost in each other’s eyes, so full of love and hope that it made both smile incessantly. Throughout the meal, he kept scooting his chair closer and closer to hers, until he was sitting right next to her. She leaned into him, breathing in the familiar scent of him, a musky, masculine scent tinged with the faint remains of body wash.

            He kissed the top of her head gently as she nuzzled her way into his neck, her lips planting soft kisses on his stubbled neck. His hands ran softly down her back, coming to a rest in the small of her back, one finger toying with the waistband of her shorts. She felt a warm flush spread through her as he removed his hand and placed it on her inner thigh; high enough to be considered an invitation but low enough to be able to refuse.

            In response to his invitation, she slid his tie off and undid a few more buttons, her fingers trailing down his stomach and lightly fingering his shiny belt buckles. She looked up at him and smiled, and he returned the smile before scooping her into his arms and carrying her to the bedroom, the door closing quietly behind them.

…

            The sky was overcast and a slight drizzle poured down relentlessly, soaking everyone in the small procession as they made their way through a field of stone. She walked alone, at the head of the procession, a black umbrella held high over her veiled head to keep off the rain. A priest followed behind her, lagging slightly to give her the space he was sure she needed. There was a slight chill in the air, but she didn’t notice as one black-gloved hand toyed with the single strand of pearls at her throat.

            She come to a stop at a simple grave, a muddy six by six foot hole lying empty before the cold stone; a large pile of loose mud and dirty rested slightly behind the gravestone. A sob hitched in her throat as she read his name, carved into the stone in an elegant and flowing script. The people following her spread out around the hole, making room for the pallbearers to carry the coffin up. The procession waited in silence as the pallbearers lowered the coffin down, inch by inch, until it came to a muddy stop in the bottom of the grave. She then motioned to the priest to begin with the slightest nod of her head, not trusting herself to speak.

            The priest began his prepared speech, reciting from memory as he stared out over the group, most with tears welling up in their eyes as they stared down at the coffin. The priest tried to catch her eye but she was looking up at the sky, her face hidden behind a lace veil. The priest cast his eyes down and finished the speech; she walked over to the dirt and knelt, grabbing a handful and tossed it down into the hole, wincing slightly as it splattered against the varnished lid.

            She turned around then and left without saying another word, walking away from the procession and the priest, the grave and the gravestone, coffin and her dead husband. She walked slowly through the stones, lightly running her free hand over the stones closest to her and not really caring about the dampness soaking into her bones.

            She felt the first tear of many to come roll down her cheek. She let it roll off her face and drip to the damp ground. She approached the wrought-iron gate and closed the umbrella, before unlocking and climbing into her car, already packed with the meager belongings she decided to keep.

            She ripped the veil off and tossed it into the passenger seat as she cranked the ignition, blasting the heat to chase off the chill that had settled itself into her bones. A song came onto the radio as she reversed and she slapped the radio dial, trying to unsuccessfully turn it off but only managing to switch stations; the soft and soothing strains of a classical symphony pouring through the speakers.

            She slammed on the brakes and switched to drive before roaring off down the street, leaving the rest of the procession, who had just barely managed to arrive at the gates, staring in shock at her retreating car. She drove through town and hit the interstate, headed northwest. She pulled up a GPS on her phone and typed into the address of her new house, a house she bought with the money from his life insurance claim and their savings, leaving just enough money to keep her afloat until she found a job.

            The GPS told her it would be a seventeen-hour drive but that didn’t factor in any traffic. She dropped the phone next to her veil and kept her heeled foot pressed against the gas, easing up only whenever she passed by a state trooper. She drove all day and all night, stopping only three times for gas and coffee, a bathroom or snacks. She let the tears flow whenever she felt them coming and used her veil to dry them off when they stopped.

            After thirteen hours and sixteen minutes of driving, she pulled into a motel and paid for a room before passing out on the bed without changing out of her conservative, black mourning dress. She woke a few hours later, showered and changed into a pair of jeans and an oversized sweatshirt of his, all before the sun had risen. She was driving with a steaming cup of gas station coffee by the time the sun peeked over the horizon.

            Six hours later and four more cups of crappy coffee, she pulled off the interstate and drove the last stretch to the slice of American Pie that would be her new home. With a population of 1,021, now 1,022, the town was located in Nowhere, South Dakota. She drove down Main Street and marveled at the idyllic vista, almost as if it were taken straight from a Norman Rockwell painting.

            Children played raucously on the sidewalks while mothers chatted and rocked babies in their arms. The doors to stores were thrown open wide, enjoying the early summer air as a breeze scented with the unfamiliar smell of the country ruffled through the leaves of the trees that lined the sidewalks at regular intervals. A “Help Wanted” sign in the corner of a diner caught her eye and she pulled up and parallel-parked between a minivan and tractor.

            She got out and entered the diner, savoring the smell of back and grease; her eyes pricked to the various conversations that went dead silent as the bell above the door jangled and numerous eyes started at her. She stood in the entrance for a moment, unsure of what to do, before a portly woman with a shock of red hair bustled out of the kitchen’s swinging doors and approached with an inquiring smile. She jerked a thumb towards the sign and waitress smiled before walking to the counter and grabbing an application. The waitress gave the application to her and she smiled her thanks before leaving.

            She dodged a duo of running kids and got back into her car, cranking the ignition and rolling down the windows to allow the breeze in. She drove through the town, following the directions her GPS chimed out. She drove out of town and turned onto a dirt road, two large farmhouses standing like sentinels against the clear, blue horizon.

            She felt a small smile grow on her face, despite the circumstances that brought her here. She pulled up to the house on the left and turned off the car, staring at the beautiful house that was now officially hers. She got out of the car and walked up the steps to the wraparound porch, flipping through the keys on her key ring. Finding the right one, she cast a glance to the right and looked at the other farmhouse, at least a good two miles away.

            She shrugged, not really wanting to introduce herself just yet. She threw the door open and stepped inside, sunlight pouring down from a large stained-glass window that was situated at the top of a curved staircase. She did a quick walkthrough of the house before getting her meager belongings from the car. The property came with the house fully furnished and she admired the wide variety of styles present.

            Moving quickly, she unpacked the boxes and made the house truly her own before returning back to the car to make a return trip to town to get food and supplies. She started the car again and glanced one last time at her neighbor’s house, noticing that the front porch wasn’t empty anymore. A disheveled man who looked as if he had just woken up, despite it being almost three in the afternoon, held a cup of something in one hand and was busy waving with the other. She hesitantly waved before giving it her all; might as well make a good impression on him, she figured. She reversed and started the long drive back to town, giving her new neighbor not another thought.

…

            She woke to unearthly orange glow that shone in through her window. Disorientated, she glanced at the clock on the bedside table and groaned, wondering why the sun was up at two in the morning. She closed her eyes, determined to get some rest on her only day off from the diner this week. The orange glow continued to seep into her eyelids, painting them in an inferno of colors that snapped her eyes open and got her out of bed. She looked out the window and saw with a sinking heart her neighbor of five year’s house ablaze, flames dancing wildly out the windows of the first and second floor. She dove for the cordless phone next to the dresser and quickly dialed nine-one-one and told the dispatcher of the emergency as she threw on pants and shoes.

            She flew down the stairs and dropped the phone in her hurry to get the door open. She finally got the door unlocked and opened before she ran the two miles to his house, her chest heaving. Smoke filled the cool night air. Blind panic drove her up the porch steps and led her to kicking down the door before stepping into the house, flinching away as a burning beam crashed down in front of her. She called out for her neighbor, her ears strained for a response as she stood in the burning entryway.

            A faint response echoed through the smoke and ash and fire, coming from the second floor. Without a second glance at the red and blue sirens that were approaching the house, she leapt over the burning beam and covered her mouth with her loose t-shirt that belonged to her dead husband. She squinted her eyes against the harsh smoke and found the stairs, testing each hot step carefully by flying up them in a mad rush.

            She called out again and followed his voice, weaker but also stronger now. She flew down the hall, dodging pools of flickering flames and crashed through a heavy door, weakened by the fire. The shirt caught fire and she swatted at the flames desperately, burning her hands slightly in the process but saving the shirt. Her eyes found his as he was straining to push a fallen beam off his legs. She knew just from the way that they were laying that both of his legs were broken, possibly beyond repair.

            She rushed over to him and together, they heaved the beam off, sending up a flurry of sparks. He tried to stand only to fall to the floor, a groan of agony escaping his lips. With a strength she didn’t know she had, she lifted him into her arms and they took off out of the room and into the hall. He hoarsely whispered directions out of the house as the smoke had drastically increased as the inferno grew unchecked.

            She nearly tripped on the last few stairs but he shot out a steadying hand, gripping the hot banister until she regained her footing. Together, they burst through the front doors and straight into the arms of a fully-clad fireman. The fireman caught them both, calling for twin stretchers as he did so. Paramedics clad in white clothes colored by fire rushed over and set up the stretchers, easing the two of them down gently before collapsing the stretchers and putting them into the back of ambulances, the sirens screaming through the night as they took off for the nearest hospital.

…

            She finished scraping the scrambled eggs out of the frying pan before seasoning them with a touch of salt and pepper, cayenne pepper and a dash of parsley for color. She grabbed the two slices of fresh toast from the shiny, new chrome toaster and slathered the butter on, placing the toast next to the eggs. Placing the plate on a tray, she filled a tall glass with sweet lemonade and filled a vase with water before dropping in a single violet, stripped free of leaves. Tossing on a pair of gleaming silverware from the dishwasher and tearing a napkin off the roll, she picked up the tray and made her way to his bedroom, humming a slight tune as she went.

            He was already awake and sitting in his wheelchair, a heavy quilt covering his legs as he stared out the window towards his blackened house which was slowly being covered in a downy blanket of soft, white snow. It’d been only a weeks since the fire but his house was still sitting empty and burned, a painful reminder of the horror that had pervaded that calm night. With no relatives close enough to take care of him in disabled state, she volunteered without thinking but had yet to regret her choice. Over the weeks, a she took care of him between shifts at the diner, feeding him and bathing him and helping him to the bathroom. A soft of kinship began to develop, bringing together the two strangers living in a house that was just starting to feel right to the both of them.

            She shook her head slowly, sorrow filling her as she balanced the tray on one hand and knocked with the other. He turned his head and a smile grew on his face, making his hazel eyes dance with light. She lifted the tray slightly and cocked her head and he laughed motioned her in. She asked him about his novel as she set the tray down gently and how it was going so far and he told her about all the ideas that had come to him in the past few days. He asked her where her breakfast was and she told him he wasn’t hungry. He called her out on her bullshit and flicked a piece of egg towards her, eliciting a twinkling tune of laughter from her pretty lips.

            The heater kicked on and warmth began to envelop the house again as the two sat in his room, sharing a meal intended for one. The sound of nails clacking on hardwood grew louder and louder as his lovable Border collie puppy bounded into the room, her tail wagging in excitement as she looked at the two of them, leaned in close with his hand on her knee as it massaged in small circles. She leaned back in her chair and patted her lap; the Border collie didn’t hesitate before jumping up and snuggling in close, falling asleep almost immediately.

            He looked over at the two of them, backlit against the dreary scene outside, and sighed a sigh of content. He was happy for the first time in a long time and she smiled back at him before patting his leg, knowing that he couldn’t feel it but doing it regardless. She stopped when she saw his expression as he looked down. He asked her to do it again, and she did, slowly almost cautiously as she did so. He looked up at her met eyes, a smile breaking out across his face as he told her that he could actually feel her hand on his leg. She leapt up, shouting with joy and laughter as she wrapped her arms around his torso. The puppy, jolted from her nap as she hit the floor, barked and pranced happily, unsure what was going on but happy nonetheless.

…

            Two weeks later saw the both of them standing on the front porch, watching as the construction on his began, despite the harsh conditions. One of her hands was clutched in his as they watched a wrecking ball crash through a half-fallen wall. She squeezed his hand reassuringly then motioned for them to go back inside where it was warm and dinner was cooking on the stove.

            Over the past weeks, they had grown closer, crossing the lines between strangers and acquaintances, friends and best friends and blurring the lines where friendship ends and romance begins. Neither wished to admit it but they had fallen, and fallen hard, for each other, taking solace in their small mannerism like his waking up later and staying up even later at night to work on his novel and her humming as she did any mundane, household chore.

            He fell in love with the way she took her coffee black with only a spoonful of sugar to counter the bitterness. She fell in love with how he would sing, deep and baritone, while in the shower. She fell in love with how he would always, always burn the dinner rolls and over-boil the pasta. He fell in love how she would dance around and around with paintbrushes in her hand as she worked on a new painting. She fell in love with his slight belly. He fell in love with the crinkles around her eyes. She fell in love with the way he would slam his laptop shut when he couldn’t get past writer’s block. He fell in love with the way she would cuss like a sailor when something unexpected happened and she didn’t know how to react. He fell in love with her and she fell in love with him, imperfections and all.

            He set the table as she served up the main course, carrying out the side dishes as he poured the wine. He pulled out her chair and she sat down graciously, dishing out the dinner. When all was said and done, he sat down and together, they enjoyed a quiet meal, each one stealing glances at the other when they thought they weren’t looking.

            She placed a hand on the table and he covered it with his; strong fingers massaged small circles into the tender flesh that covered her palm. She gripped his fingers, stopped the movement as it brought on the ghost of an echo of a memory from a time she didn’t want to remember. He nodded his understanding, and fell just a little bit more in love. She smiled at him as she took a sip of wine. He stood up then, slowly and casually like he did it all the time, and raised his glass, tipping it towards her and making a toast to the two of them.

            She clinked her glass against his and glanced out the window, towards his old house. A sudden thought struck her as she looked at it, knowing that as soon as it was finished that he’d be moving back in and she knew that she couldn’t have that. Two miles isn’t far but it’s far enough when the person you love is on the other end of those two miles.

            Voicing her opinion on the matter, he grew solemn as the realization dawned on him. It was such a simple realization but it came as quite the shock to the two of them as they stared at each other over their partly-eaten and quickly cooling dinner.

…

            The fresh, crisp smell of chopped peppers pervaded the house as she quickly sliced them into small chunks, adding them to the cast-iron skillet already filled with diced celery, chopped onion, minced garlic and a generous amount of cooking oil. Humming gently to herself, she gathered up the red and green chunks and tossed them into the skillet, scraping the pepper seeds into the mix with the knife. She didn’t believe him when he said it added extra flavoring, but she humored him all the same. She turned the small dial above the stove, setting it to medium-high before leaning against the counter, listening to the keys on his keyboard clattering away as she admired, and not for the first time, the diamond ring on her hand.

            The keys stopped clattering and she looked up only to smile and shake her head when the keys resumed their frantic clattering. He was under a deadline to produce three new chapters by midnight but he didn’t seem to be struggling, which was good for she had a surprise planned for him tonight. Not every day is their one year anniversary, after all. A light melody hummed its way out of her throat before bursting into a full-on rendition of “Jessie’s Girl” as she finished preparations for dinner.

            Half an hour later saw him adding the finishing touches to the second chapter and her setting the steaming pot jambalaya on the table along with two frosty beers. He sighed appreciatively as he walked into the dining room, his cheesy grin growing on his stubbled face. She returned the smile and sat down, scooping out a hearty helping for herself before doing the same to him. He pulled out his chair and sat down at the two-seater table across from her, and gripped one of her hands lightly as she blew on a steaming spoonful of deliciousness. He looked at her for a moment before starting to dig in, appreciating her natural beauty. He didn’t like it when she wore makeup; he believed that it took away from the raw beauty that every woman had with the exception of her. She had more than any other woman could possibly dream of, at least to him she did.

            The first few drops of a summer storm pelted against the windows as a strong gust rattled the house but neither minded. They both loved storms and all that they entailed; both had a burning passion to see the lightning in their lover’s eyes. The rain was pouring down and the thunder was rolling by the time the dishes were washed and put away to dry. She took him by the hand and led him out the back door, down the curvy brick path and straight up into the gazebo he built for her last summer. A blanket was laid down, safe from the wind and rain, with a mound of pillows to help soften the hard, wooden floor.

            He smiled and pulled her down, landing roughly on the pillows, both still wet from the torrential downpour that was a South Dakota storm but neither of them cared. They took it slow, gently exploring each other with soft touches and light kisses, gentle caresses and lasting looks. The rain lasted through the night and the morning sun found them asleep in each other’s arms, both deep in love when neither thought they would find love again.