Now Playing: Sunflower by Post Malone and Swae Lee

The beat drummed out of the phone as soft sunlight flowed into the living room. The rest of the house was quiet and the day was starting in the kitchen. He picked up the piece of paper and heaved a sigh of nervousness. He looked through the recipes and made sure he had all the ingredients in front of him. He decided to start with the juice. Holding the orange firmly on the cutting board, he slowly moved the knife through the fruit. He let out a sigh of relief at the halved orange and pressed a half over the juicer. He giggled in excitement as the juice flowed through the strainer and into the cup.

After 4 oranges, he decided that he had enough juice and put the pitcher of juice into the fridge. He picked up the other recipe and read the first step. He washed the mushrooms and tomatoes and started cutting them up. He started the fire and put a frying pan on the stove. He started the fire on high heat and poured oil into the pan. After waiting a few seconds impatiently, he placed the sausages, mushrooms and tomatoes in the pan.

As they cooked, he started cracking eggs open. Some pieces of shell fell into the bowl and he went into panic. He flapped his hands around before dipping his fingers into the bowl and digging out the shells. The pan started sizzling loudly so he grabbed the spatula and started flipping the ingredients while adding in the bacon in. Once that was settled, he went back to the recipe.

He looked into the spice rack and grabbed the salt and pepper containers. “With the salt and pepper,” he mumbled, reading the recipe. “Who much do I put?” Trusting his gut, he shook the containers hard and trusted that he seasoned it enough. Once the ingredients were cooked, he laid them on the two plates and placed the pan back on the fire.

“How’s it going?” His head shot around to face the owner of the voice. You were leaning against the doorframe, as you towel-dried your hair. “No, no, no, no,” he started rapping and walking towards you, “You’re not allowed in here. Go and get ready.” You chuckled, received your husband’s kiss, and obeyed him. He ran back to his eggs while you returned to the bedroom.

After half an hour, you were fanning your face to dry the setting spray when the bedroom door opened and his head popped in. “It’s ready,” he grinned. “Finally,” you exclaimed, “I’ve been holding in the temptation from the fragrance.” You reached out to his outstretched hand and let him lead you to the dining table. After pushing your chair in, he took a seat with a thud and blew out of his mouth loudly. You looked at the big breakfast brunch before you. It was glowing with a gloss you knew too well. You looked back at him and he was still reeling in from the adventurous morning. His eyes were wide and his eyebrows raised as he watched you taste the eggs. You nodded with approval, overlooking the greasy feeling in your mouth. “Ha!” he exclaimed with joy and took a bite. Brunch was ok.

You smiled and took a sip of the orange juice. You paused