Kris! He left but in my mind he's still part of the group.
"I want cookies," you tell him, rising from the couch in a slow stretch.
"I'll buy you some later," Kris replies, his arms folded behind his head.
"I want homemade ones; there aren't enough choc chips in the shop ones. Plus, homemade cookies are fresher and they're fun to make."
"Cooking is not my style," he answers simply.
I'll make it your style.
You collect all the ingredients and set them neatly on the counter. There's silence in the living room and eventually, as expected, you see Kris come into the kitchen reluctantly.
"It's actually loads of fun you know," you comment as you turn away to melt the butter and white chocolate.
He doesn't say anything.
After what seems to be a very intense internal battle, Kris stands, takes the bowl from you and stirs the cookie batter easily.
Much like his style now, you think triumphantly. Ha, he said chicken wasn't his style, but look at him now; chicken is practically his favourite food.
You hand him the flour.
"My clothes will get messy," he says haughtily, pushing it away.
"Doesn't really matter, Kris..." You run a floury hand through his hair, streaking it with white powder. "In fact, you wear it well."
He frowns, dips his hand into the flour and dusts it over your nose. The cheeky smile fades.
You wrinkle your nose. He's your boyfriend, but you have to get revenge before you forgive him. You smear some of the white chocolate mix on his face. He shivers in disgust and attacks with melted butter.
"I'm all dirty now...and you ruined an expensive shirt," Kris complains, watching you put trays of unappetising blobs in the oven.
"Sorry," you say unapologetically. It's not like he can't buy another shirt and you're sure he has more than one of those in his closet anyway.
"We should have just bought them. Look at the mess you made and the result," he continues, throwing the cookies a disapproving look.
"We'll both clean off all this later. But it can wait."
You wink and pop some chocolate chips in his mouth. He purses his lips and you know he can't be mad at you. And you get a sweet kiss in return. You don't object either; the rich flavour of chocolate on his soft lips is maddeningly wonderful.
He smirks and licks his lips. "Hey, if that's how every cooking session ends, then I'm willing to do it again."
"We'll see."
