six

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It was Thursday evening when I found out how terrible a cook Venus was. I was sat at my couch, my feet propped up on the coffee table a mug of tea resting in my lap, a book in my available hand.

I was just getting to the climax of the story when an eager knock emanated from the front door. I glanced over at the calendar hanging above my nearby desk. It wasn't the time of the month where the landlord, Mr. Deniaud came to collect my rent, so who could it be? No one else came to visit me.

I groaned as I placed the mug on the coffee table, along with my book, carefully putting it face down to save my place as I stood, brushed off my pants, and strode towards the door. I cautiously peeked through the tiny peephole, seeing Venus in a fisheye view. I jumped when I saw her. I quickly leapt into the bathroom to take a quick look at myself in the mirror, adjusting my hair hastily before rushing back to the front door and swinging it open, catching her right before she turned around to go back home.

"Venus! Hi! Hi." I said stiffly, receiving her attention.

Her hair was fixed on the top of her head, with burnt, dirty oven mitts on her hands and a yellow, stained apron tied around her waist.

"Shawn, do you have any paper towels?" she sounded awfully distraught.

"Yes, of course, why? What happened?" I asked, concerned.

It was cold outside, and the breeze that swept through our hallway initiated chills up my spine. The light in between our apartments flickered regularly. But the lighting magnified her beauty anyway, much like every other lighting she stood beneath.

Venus shook her head, pulling each oven mitt off her hands and placing them both under her arm. "There was a slight incident." she sighed defeatedly, continuing,"I was – just, why don't you come over and see. Bring the paper towels."

I did as she asked and fetched some paper towels before following her into her apartment (it smelled like something had burned), turning to my left to immediately see the kitchen, where several pots and pans were scattered across the counters, burnt scraps were surrounding the stove, and it was drenched in water.

That's when I, ever so gracelessly asked,"How in the hell did this go down?" and she, taken back by my awkwardly worded question, with eyebrows sewed together and a curious gleam in her eyes, told me just that.

So apparently, she had been attempting to cook something (of which its name she neglected to say), and it took an unfortunate turn, causing her stove to go up in flames. Her automatic reaction was, of course, to somehow extinguish the fire. She had grabbed the nearest (not yet burning) pot and filled it with tap water, then splashed it over the flames, putting out most of the fire, but nonetheless soaking her kitchen with water. Then she tried to clean up the water with all her paper towels, and when she ran out of those, she was left with one solution: to go get more, which lead her to my doorstep, bringing us back here, in her wet, foul-smelling apartment.

Venus was embarrassed. I could tell by the brilliant scarlet tint of her cheeks, and her immoderate fidgeting. However, I personally found her entire explanation, and reaction, kind of adorable.

It was really quiet as we cleaned up the kitchen, scrubbing away at the burnt places, pressing paper towels to absorb the water, and clearing up the mess of it all.

Venus was still mortified, and didn't want to talk at all, so I accepted the fact and just proceeded to tidy up her kitchen, even though I did want to talk. I wanted to talk with her for hours on end. I wanted to hear the truth about her, I wanted to know more. But just that hour and a half we spent together in her kitchen, was just enough for me.

She was everything I ever wanted in a girl. She was so my type.

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