moments ♡

chicken ♡

It had been on the fridge for a week - mocking her.

He had a favorite - besides her anyway. He loved food, and she wasn't edible (well, she was, but he was no cannibal).

Cooking had never really been her thing, but he had always been her thing. She would do pretty much anything for him, and this would hopefully let him know that (even though he knew already).

His mom's recipe for fried chicken struck terror in her heart every time she looked at it. She had watched the Good Eats "fry some more" episode hundreds of times hoping to absorb some of Alton's quirky wisdom.

She didn't feel like she had, but the time had come. It was a Tuesday, he had to work late, she had gotten off early, and there was a chicken in her fridge that she was certain was making obscene gestures at her.

It was time. She had to do this.

She nervously followed the recipe to the letter - breaking down the chicken from scratch, seasoning it under the breading, filling the cast-iron skillet with shortening, and thoroughly cooking every piece through. The crust was so pretty, and the whole house smelled like a warm, spicy heaven. She let the chicken rest as she made homemade mashed potatoes, baked off some frozen biscuits, and made some of her mom's famous creamed corn recipe.

She actually got emotional when she looked at all she had done and realized that it had worked - that she had successfully cooked a dinner without using a microwave at all. Perhaps loving him had given her confidence?

The clock showed that he'd be home in about ten minutes, so she left the food to cool a bit and dashed to the bedroom to slip into something pretty. She didn't get to spoil her man often, but when she did, she liked to go all out. His car crunched up the gravel driveway just as she was finishing her swipe of mascara and his favorite flavor of lip balm.

When he came through the door, she had just lit the candles on the table. His eyes widened at the sight of her in his favorite purple slip dress and her hair falling over her shoulders in long waves. "Hi," he gasped.

"Hi." She had wrapped him in her arms as soon as his hands were free. "I made dinner."

He kissed her big and full on the lips before she could even tell him what she'd made. Dinner could wait a few minutes, she figured. She couldn't imagine anything more delicious than this feeling of being so loved.

She happily returned his kiss before his wandering hands rested on her lower back and his lips strayed over her jaw and down her neck, across her collarbones, and then back to her lips.

They were both giddy and winded and foggy-headed when he let her go. "I love you." Even through his hurried breaths, the passion in his eyes made her feel weak and silly with adoration.

"I love you. I made one of your favorites! Your mom's fried chicken, some potatoes, biscuits, corn…" His eyes kept getting wider, and she couldn't help but blush and grin. "Crap. I forgot dessert."

He tugged her back into his arms. "We don't need dessert. Nothing could possibly be sweeter than being loved by you."

Author's Note:
This is the sort of wife I dream of being, so I'm pretty full of feelings! Also, is fried chicken ever a bad idea?

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