moments ♡

lovely ♡

"What do you want for dinner, Handsome?"

He lay on the couch reading Neruda and absentmindedly running his fingers through his mane while she wore his shirt and rummaged through the cabinets and fridge.

He grinned and turned his eyes from a poetic masterpiece to a human one. "I was going to make chicken piccata."

"Oh." She closed the cabinets and moved to sit beside him on the couch. There was no containing her smile while she watched him hurry to put a marker in his book and sit up to kiss her cheek.

"Are you hungry? Do I need to cook now?" He grabbed his phone and huffed a frustrated sigh. "You're probably starving, Babe! I always lose track of time when I'm reading poetry. Why-"

She smoothed his messy hair behind his ears and pressed a soft kiss on his lips. When his pretty eyes fluttered halfway open, he smiled and blushed a little. "I never liked being told to shut up until you did it." She returned his smile and kissed him until his tummy rumbled.

"That does it." She stood suddenly, and he looked confused again. "I'm going to make you some food. What do you want?" She had returned to digging through the cabinets.

"Um..." He followed her into the kitchen and hopped onto the counter, tugging at his beard thoughtfully. "What do you want?"

She turned to smirk at him. "Are you trying to creatively ask me what I can actually make?"

He smiled sheepishly. "Yeah."

Between the two of them, he was definitely the chef. He loved food and cooking, and she loved watching him cook and eating his creations.

"You don't have to do this, Babe. I'm more than happy to cook for us."

She stepped in front of him, and he slipped his arms around her. She touched his face, letting herself appreciate all his features individually and then as a whole. "I know... but you do so much to take care of me that I want to at least try to return the favor."

He smiled warmly and pulled her closer to lay a kiss on her forehead. "OK. I'm game for whatever you feel like making."

She slid out of his arms and went back to the fridge. "I can make... cereal... eggs... pancakes... grilled cheese-"

His eyes brightened and widened, and he gasped with a childlike excitement. "A grilled cheese?"

"OK," she chuckled. "I was hoping you'd pick that." She dropped her voice to a mock-whisper. "It's my specialty."

He hopped off the counter and pressed a kiss on her cheek while she got out the ingredients for the sandwiches. "Be right back." He dashed to the couch to grab his favorite anthology of poetry before coming back to his spot on the counter.

He smiled at her, flipping his delightfully wild curls and watching her cover the bread with just the right amount of butter. She poked her tongue out adorably, focusing hard on getting the butter in an even coat all the way to the corners.

"Can I read to you?" His voice was quiet and low.

"Mhmm." A smile overtook her face, but she didn't look up.

He opened the book to his favorite poem before clearing his throat. She turned on the heat under the cast-iron skillet and turned her attention to buttering the next slice of bread.

"Lovely One." He looked up to give her a shy smile before returning his eyes to his book.

"Lovely one,
Just as on the cool stone
Of the spring, the water
Opens a wide flash of foam,
So is the smile of your face,
Lovely one."

She flipped the sandwich to reveal that the first side was perfectly browned. He was impressed.

"Lovely one,
With delicate hands and slender feet
Like a silver pony,
Walking flower of the world,
Thus I see you,
Lovely one."

She flipped the first perfect sandwich onto a plate and started the next one.

"Lovely one,
With a mess of copper entangled
On your head, a nest
The colour of dark honey
Where my heart burns and rests,
Lovely one."

"Two sandwiches?"

He nodded and kept reading.

"Lovely one,
Your eyes are too big for your face,
Your eyes are too big for the earth.

"There are countries, there are rivers
In your eyes.
My country is your eyes,
I walk through them,
They light the world through which I walk,
Lovely one."

She kept working, producing more perfect sandwiches.

He read the next few stanzas, both of them blushing profusely at Neruda's beautiful imagery about appreciating his love's physical beauty. The words were true, but they still sat very awkwardly in the air.

She finished her work and leaned against the counter, waiting for the sandwiches to cool a little so that she could cut them without all the cheese melting out.

The sheer adoration in his voice made her weak.

Also happy. Very happy.

"Lovely one, my lovely one,
Your voice, your skin, your nails,
Lovely one, my lovely one,
Your being, your light, your shadow,
Lovely one,
All that is mine, lovely one,
All that is mine, my dear,
When you walk or rest,
When you sing or sleep,
When you suffer or dream,
Always,
When you are near or far,
Always,
You are mine, my lovely one,
Always."

He met her eyes with a gentle smile, and she stepped into his arms. There was a kiss so beautiful it made her toes curl.

"I love you." She rested her forehead against his.

"My lovely one," he sighed.

Then, she cut each sandwich into 4 neat little triangles.

And they ate.

And they were in love - these lovely ones.

Author's Note: Grilled cheese, Neruda, and a handsome man? Sounds like heaven on earth! I hope you enjoyed this, because I certainly enjoyed writing it for you. Vote and comment if you want, as always! I love you, and I hope all is well! ♡