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John’s plan had been simple—in theory. He’d whip up a delicious meal, light some candles, and enjoy a romantic dinner with the most handsome boyfriend in the world. But then the water for the pasta boiled over, the vegetables burnt and stuck to the bottom of the pot, and he almost dropped the knife on his foot when he tried to slice up a second batch.
“Alright, I’ve stayed away from the kitchen as long as I can,” Paul said as he came in from their bedroom. “What on earth are you doing?”
John stared at him from among the stacks of dishes littering the counter and the splotches of food on the floor and ignored the very dark steam coming out of one of the pots. “…Cooking.”
Paul shook his head and sighed. “If I had known that, I would have stopped you sooner,” he teased with a playful glint in his eye.
“What, you think I can’t cook?”
“I think the evidence speaks for itself.” Paul turned off the stove, placed the floor knife in the sink, and grabbed two new ones from the drawer. “Let’s try this together.”
Despite grumbling to himself about his romantic plans being ruined, John took the knife anyway. But in the end, this new plan wasn’t so bad. John loved the way Paul hummed one of John’s songs as he diced the onion, and the way Paul fought back giggles as John flicked bits of carrot at his nose. And John especially loved the way it felt as he hugged Paul from behind while he stirred the pots.
“Hey,” John said, planting a kiss on Paul’s neck.
“Hm?”
“You should teach me to cook more often.”
Paul looked over his shoulder and brushed their noses together. “I think that can be arranged.”