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“I saw my baby, trying hard as babe could try — what could I do?”
You belted the verse into your wooden-spoon microphone, dancing around the kitchen as you waited for the oven to preheat. You had the music cranked up to the highest volume, filling the empty house with Bowie's dulcet tones and funky grooves; it was helping take the edge off being alone on your one-year anniversary, and dancing always put you in a better mood. By the time Danny got back from whatever he'd insisted had to be done today but wouldn't explain, you'd be ready to forgive the sting of hurt and enjoy the rest of your evening with him.
You were just putting the pumpkin pie in the oven when the door opened, and you turned with a bright smile to greet your boyfriend. You didn't know what you'd expected — some flowers, a gift he’d wanted to keep a secret until now, even just a smile — but all you got was a stormy expression and the door closing behind him with a little more force than necessary.
“Hi, honey!” you said, trying to stay cheerful. You liked welcoming him home to baking treats and fun music and a warm, sun-bright kitchen, and you hoped he liked it too.
“Hi,” he said, his voice distracted and flat. He winced at the loud guitar. “Geez, kitkat, are you trying to make me deaf? Turn that down.”
You hurried to do as he said, looking over at him with a cautious expression. He hadn't been in a great mood when he left, but you'd hoped that running whatever errand he was so concerned about would make him feel better; evidently, he was just as grumpy now as he had been earlier, and you tried not to let it hurt.
“Sorry, Danny,” you said when the music was quieter. “I guess I didn't realize how loud it would be if you just walked in on it.”
He gave a doubtful hum but didn't say anything else, leaving kind of abruptly to go further into the house. Surprised, you followed to see what was wrong.
“Did you get done whatever you went out for?” you asked.
He went into the bathroom and started rummaging around in the medicine basket.
“Do we have any freakin’ Tylenol in this house?” he asked irritably.
You went in to help him and easily found the bottle he was looking for. When you handed him two pills, he didn't offer any thanks.
“What’s wrong, honey?” you asked. You stepped aside as he elbowed his way to the sink. “You don't feel good?”
He cupped some water in his hand and downed the medicine before he washed his face. “Head’s killing me.”
“Oh. I’m sorry.” You reached to brush his hair back from his face. “Do you want something to eat?”
“No, I don't,” he said stiffly. He batted your hand away. “Please don't hover, kitkat. You're stressing me out.”
You drew back, stung, and felt something crinkle up in your heart that would take some ironing out.
“I didn't mean to,” you said softly. “Will you...” You hesitated to ask for anything, but you'd missed him while he was gone, and you wanted to spend time with him if he wanted to spend time with you.
He sighed. “Will I what?”
You bit the inside of your cheek. “Will you come back in the kitchen with me when you're feeling better?”
“Why, so I can get roped into doing the dishes after your little baking extravaganza?”
“No,” you said, feeling an unhappy twist in your chest. “Just to hang out. You don't have to if you don't want to.”
He softened the slightest bit, perhaps a little chastened by your hesitant tone.
“Yeah, maybe,” he said, and it was almost worse than a flat-out no. “Let me get in the door, babe. It's been a long day.”
You held back from saying that you knew what he meant; it had been a long day for you too, waiting for him to come home to celebrate your anniversary. Granted, it wasn't your official dating anniversary — that was still a week or so away, and it was marked on the calendar in his bedroom. But one year ago today, you'd met him at the haunted house he worked at, and you wanted to celebrate the day you'd been rescued by a big guy in a werewolf costume and fallen head over heels for him.
You supposed you couldn’t hold it against him that he didn't remember the exact day you'd met. But even if it had been a regular day, his uncharacteristically moody and irritable homecoming was weighing on you. It made you feel funny, all sad and nervous and on edge, and you wished he'd just talk to you instead of merely inflicting his dark mood on you.
“Okay,” you said in a small voice, ever the peacekeeper. That wasn't a bad trait necessarily, but it sometimes led to you bottling up your thoughts and feelings instead of expressing them. You weren't sure now was the best time to tell him how you felt, though. A needy girlfriend seemed like it might be the last straw for his tenuous grip on civility.
You went back to the kitchen and turned off the music altogether, your cheerful, dancing mood pretty much killed by Danny’s gruffness. You started to clean up after your “little baking extravaganza”, as he'd called it with less affection and more irritation than you would have liked. You'd spent the better part of the afternoon crafting a beautiful, perfect pumpkin pie — his favorite — and had made a jack o’ lantern face out of dough to go on the top. Your heart sank as you wondered if he'd even want to try it when it was done baking.
He went out to the porch, talking on the phone about something that was evidently less than pleasant. You couldn't make out what he was saying, but from the tone of his voice and the glimpses of his body language you got through the window above the sink, you could tell he was upset about something. You determined to be kinder and more gentle to him when he came in, hoping you could soothe his worries and coax him into talking about whatever was bothering him.
You were finishing up the dishes when he came back inside, and you offered him a smile. You intended to ask him if the medicine was kicking in, but he spoke before you could say anything.
“Something’s burning,” he said.
You blinked. “What?”
He nodded to the oven. “Whatever you're making. It smells like it's burning.”
With a jolt, you realized he was right; the timer had gone off and you hadn't realized it, and now there was a distinctly burnt smell permeating the kitchen. You whirled to open the oven and take the pie out, haphazardly grabbing a dish towel to cover your hands.
“Careful, kitkat,” he warned. “You don't — ”
In your haste, you didn't have time to process his warning before your uncovered ring and pinky finger met the hot pan. With a yelp of pain, you snatched your hand back and jerked the pan until it listed off the rack and tilted sideways to land lopsidedly between the rack and the oven door.
“Oh! Oh no!” You watched, distraught, as the jack o’ lantern face started a slow, precarious slant off the perfect placement you'd given it. You reached to right the pan, feeling the sting of tears at the foolishness of your blunder and the pain in your fingers, but Danny quickly eased you aside and took the dish towel from you.
“Let me get it, honey,” he said, and for the first time, his voice was kind, albeit a little harried. “Run some water over your hand.”
You did as he said, watching as he got the pie out of the oven and set it on the stovetop. He closed the oven and turned it off, tossing the dish towel over his shoulder as he crossed to you.
“Let me see,” he said gently, taking your hand in his and pulling it away from the water for a moment. You winced as the pain came back more sharply and tried not to cry as he cradled your hand in his.
“Alright,” he soothed, turning your hand to see your burned fingers better. “It doesn't look too bad. Keep it under the water for a minute. I’ll be right back.”
Alone again in the kitchen, you tried to collect yourself; you glanced over at the pie and saw that it was a burnt, lopsided mess when you'd taken such care for it to be perfect for him. You swallowed, feeling tears stack up in your throat.
When he came back, he stood with his hip leaned against the counter as he dried your hand, smoothed Vaseline over your tender fingertips, and put bandaids on both fingers. You still stood at a distance, even as he was holding your hand, fearing another irritated scolding for your absent-mindedness.
“How's that?” he asked, looking up at your from under his dark lashes. He didn't seem angry any more, and you were so relieved at it that you suddenly couldn't stop the tears that spilled over.
His brow crinkled. “Hey, hey,” he said, worried and gentle. “Does it hurt that bad, honey?”
“No,” you said honestly, quickly trying to brush the tears from your face. He did it for you, soft and patient and understanding.
“Why’re you crying, then?” he asked.
You drew a choppy breath, trying to stop. “I’m sorry.”
“I didn't mean you had to apologize,” he said kindly. “You're not in trouble, kitkat. I just wanted to know what was wrong. Did it scare you?”
“Well, a little,” you admitted. “But I’m just...”
You were embarrassed by the stupid way you’d hurt yourself; you’d been sad and uneasy at Danny’s mood and now felt a little overwhelmed with emotion at the much-needed tenderness and affection he gave you.
“I’m glad you're not angry any more,” you said pitifully.
He sighed, chagrined and understanding. “Oh.”
“You're not, are you?” you asked.
“No.” His big, strong frame seemed tense with discomfort. “I'm not angry any more, kitkat.”
“I’m sorry if I made it worse,” you said sincerely. “I should have let you come in without asking a million questions and having the music on so loud.”
He gently squeezed your hand. “No, honey. It wasn't your fault. You didn't do anything wrong. I was the one who was out of line.”
He ran his thumb over your palm in a gesture of tenderness.
“I’m really sorry for how I spoke to you, kitkat,” he said gently. “I was frustrated, but I shouldn’t have taken it out on you. Please forgive me.”
“Of course I forgive you,” you said, your voice a little wobbly. “I just wish... Well, I was trying to make it nice, since...”
He brushed more tears from your face. “Since what, honey?”
You looked up at him, your expression crumpling. “Since it's our anniversary.”
His eyes widened. “No it's not,” he said, obviously hoping it wasn't true. “It’s next week, isn't it?”
“Yeah, I mean, the real one,” you said weakly. “But today's the day we met.”
He softened and gave a regretful sigh, pulling you close.
“Oh,” he said. “I see. I didn't remember, kitkat. I’m sorry.”
You wrapped your arms around him and buried your face against his chest, tears falling in earnest now. You weren't exactly sure what you were crying about, but you were sure you were happy to have him home and not so angry any more.
“I made a real mess here, didn't I?” he said.
“It’s okay,” you said, your voice choppy and unconvincing even though it was true. “You didn't know.”
“Yeah, but I still shouldn't have acted like I did. I want it to be a nice thing to have me come home, not a burden.”
You hugged him tighter. “It's not. You're never a burden, Danny. I love you. Even when you come home grumpy.”
You felt his gratitude and relief in the way he held you.
“I love you too, kitkat.” His voice was a little rough around the edges. “Thank you for loving me like you do. I don't deserve you.”
You stayed that way for a long moment, resting in each other, letting the worries of the day fade in the peace of being with the person you loved and trusted more than anyone else.
“I wanted to surprise you,” you said softly. “I made pumpkin pie for you. Your favorite.”
He rested his cheek on the top of your head and hugged you tight. “It is my favorite,” he agreed. “That was really sweet of you, honey. Thank you for thinking of me.”
“But now it’s ruined,” you said miserably, pulling back to swipe a hand over your cheeks and look at the charred, cockamamie gift you'd wanted to give him. “I’m sorry, Danny. It's not much of a surprise.”
He chuckled, and the sound was warm and comforting. “It’s not ruined, kitkat. It's... unique. And I see the vision. You think I won't still eat every bite of it?”
“Even the burnt parts?”
“Well, maybe we can cut those off. Looks like it's only the top of the crust.” He drew you over to look at it with him, and his smile was very gentle and forgiving.
“I like the jack o’ lantern face,” he said. “You’re so clever and creative, kitkat. I think it's a great surprise. I love it.”
You looked up at him. “Yeah?”
He kissed your nose. “Yeah. Let me put on some coffee to go with it. I'll even let you have a slice.”
You gave a watery laugh. “Thanks. That's nice of you.”
He helped you finish cleaning the kitchen, and the acrid smell of burnt pie crust was washed out with the comforting aroma of coffee as it brewed. You went out on the porch to sit in the chilly evening air with your plates piled high with the not-burnt parts of your pie, and you enjoyed how Danny dug in with gusto, complimenting your baking all the while.
You snuggled closer to him on the porch swing, cradling your steam-wreathed mug, careful of your sore fingers.
“How’s your beautiful little hand, my dear?” he teased gently, holding his hand out for you to place your hand in.
“Better,” you said. Your heart tilted when he kissed your fingertips. “Thank you for taking care of me, Danny.”
He hummed. “You’re welcome, kitkat. It was the least I could do after being so ugly to you. I know I said it before, but I'm sorry for acting like that. You don't deserve for me to talk to you that way.”
You brushed your fingers over his cheek. “Thank you. Would you mind telling me why you were so frustrated? I want to help if I can.”
He sighed, and his expression scrunched a little with worry and weariness.
“Money’s a little tight,” he said after a long moment. “The gig we booked for this weekend fell through.”
“Oh, Dan, I’m sorry,” you said sincerely. You knew that the paycheck would have been nice, and a canceled show was never what an aspiring band wanted to deal with. You knew he and the boys would have liked to play the gig anyway, even if they didn't make any money off of it.
“Was that what you were on the phone about?” you asked.
He nodded. “Josh told me this morning, and he tried to figure out a new date with the guy we booked with, but he told me when I was out here earlier that he wouldn't reschedule.” He shook his head. “Josh is pissed. I guess I am too. It sucks.”
“Yeah,” you said gently. “I’m sorry, honey. Can I help? Financially, I mean?”
A dull, uncomfortable blush darkened his face. “I don't want to ask you for money, kitkat.”
“I know,” you said kindly. “But I'm happy to help. I practically live here anyway. I can pitch in with rent or groceries or something.”
He looked at you with such humility and gratitude that you thought your heart would break.
“Thanks, honey,” he said. His voice was a little hoarse. “That’s very kind of you.”
You gave him a gentle smile. “You’re welcome, Danny. I love you. Let me help you.” You didn't make a ton of money either, but you'd gladly do whatever you could to help your boyfriend and his brothers that were as good as family to you.
He ran a hand over his face. “I was trying to get you a present, earlier,” he said. “For our anniversary.” He gave you a teasing smile. “Our real one.”
You laughed. “Oh yeah?”
“That’s why I was gone all day,” he agreed. “But it...” His jaw worked uncomfortably. “It ended up being pretty expensive. More than I budgeted for. So that made me feel like a schmuck.”
You took his hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. “I don't need anything to know you love me, Danny. But thank you for thinking of me.”
He looked over at you. “Do you wanna know what it was? Since it's the thought that counts, I hope?”
You smiled. “It is the thought that counts. And yeah, if you want to tell me.”
“A lady we work with breeds dogs on the side,” he said. “All official, fancy, pedigree labradors. I was gonna get you a puppy, like I talked about. You know. Start our family, or whatever.”
He was bashful as he told you, the embarrassment of having to say no once he'd learned the price obviously still stinging him. But it was such a nice thought, such a sweet present that he'd wanted to get, that just the idea alone was enough of a gift.
“Oh, Danny,” you said sweetly. You kissed his cheek. “That would have been a really good gift. But I'm glad you made a smart financial decision.”
He sighed. “Yeah. Wish I didn't have to make such smart financial decisions all the time.”
You brushed his curls back from his face. “I know, sweetheart. But I admire you for making wise choices for our family of two, and I know I can trust you to make wise choices for our family of three when we finally do get our puppy.”
He brightened then. “We could always get a pound puppy. Some two and a half dollar mutt that needs somebody to love ‘em.”
You smiled. “We could,” you agreed. “Maybe that's what we should do for our anniversary. Our real one.”
He chuckled and drew you close with his arm over your shoulders, pulling you snug against him.
“I’ll remember next year,” he promised. “This is a good anniversary to celebrate too.”
You kissed under his jaw. “I think so too.”
When the sun set and the chilly air turned cold, you went back inside and started to get dinner on. They boys were working tonight, and since Danny was off, you had the house to yourselves. He still seemed a little down as you cooked together, though he was good company, and you wished there was something you could do to help cheer him up.
“Do you mind if I put some music on?” you asked, not wanting to overstimulate him like you had earlier. “How’s your headache?”
He smiled. “Better, thanks. Crank up the tunes, honey.”
You put your Halloween playlist back on, and when Bowie’s “Magic Dance” came on, you had an idea of something to help loosen Danny up.
You held out your hand. “Dance with me.”
He grinned and took your hand. “As you wish, my love.”
There in the middle of the kitchen, while dinner simmered on the stove, you drew him into a footloose and fancy-free dance of careless steps to the funky tune. You sang along, swinging and twirling and grooving to the music; he mimicked you with much more grace and effortless cool, complimenting your awkward, happy dancing. Both of you danced and jumped along with the song, laughing and crashing into each other with clumsy, carefree movements that brought you together in the joy and comfort and ease you shared.
“Is my dance magic working?” you asked.
He laughed. “I think so, honey. I feel all limbered up.”
He listened to the music attentively for a moment.
“There’s kind of a sexy little guitar riff coming up, if I remember correctly,” he said.
You knew exactly what he was talking about. You tossed your hair and gave him a hooded smile when the riff played, skating your hands over your body. He pinked and gave you a devilish grin.
“Better watch out, kitkat,” he teased. “You’re gonna get yourself in trouble dancing like that.”
You put your arms around his neck. “Put that baby’s spell on me, loverboy.”
He scooped you up and held you in his strong arms, your legs wrapped around his waist. “Don't have to tell me twice, honey.”
You giggled. “What about dinner?”
“Let it burn. I've got a taste for burnt food now.”
You laughed, big and bright and joyful, and held his face as you kissed him deeply.
“I sure do love you, Danny.”
He smiled and looked up at you with nothing short of adoration. “Aw, kitkat. I sure do love you too.”