I walked in without knocking. The screen door banged to a close behind me announcing my presence. I followed my nose to the kitchen and found Kaleb standing by the stove. He stirred something that smelled absolutely delicious a wooden spoon in one hand and a huge chef’s knife in the other.

“Are you sober?” I asked from the doorway.

He turned and leveled a smile at me that made me a little wobbly. “I am."

“Good. Because if not I was going to take the deadly kitchen utensil away from you.” I crossed the room and pulled myself up to sit on the counter beside the stove. A cutting board full of green peppers and two uncut stalks of celery waited for attention from the knife. Melted butter and diced onions bubbled in a sauté pan on the stove. “You cook."

Kaleb was so pretty I was jealous. Pretty with ripped muscles and a tattoo of a red dragon covering most of his upper body. “Yes,” he said. “I cook.”

“Do you usually wear a wife beater and,” I pushed him back a little by his shoulder “an apron that says ‘Kiss the Cook’ while you’re doing it? ”

He leaned so close to me my heart skipped a couple of beats. “I’ll wear it all the time if you’ll consider it.

Myra McEntire

Mots clés humor emerson-cole kaleb-ballard

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You are sweetness and light. Human cotton candy.

Myra McEntire

Mots clés kaleb-ballard

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I'm a bad ass. A bad ass who bakes when he's depressed.

Myra McEntire

Mots clés kaleb-ballard

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I'm simply reminding you that you're worth more than what you'll find at the bottom of a bottle.

Myra McEntire

Mots clés self-worth kaleb-ballard lily-garcia timepiece

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