They got up, lifting the dishes from the table and walking to the sink. As he put his in and stepped aside for her to place her own so that they could start scrubbing, she did something else. She placed her plate inside and took his hand. She looked up at him shyly, her eyelids lowered and her mouth forming a shy smile. She sighed, and looked up at him with an obvious effort.
Special thanks goes out to the one that gave me the idea for this story. When I told her about the idea she was overjoyed and very enthusiastic to help me brainstorm. To be honest, if it wasn’t for her help and input, this story would never have happened. Granted, it’s still a work in progress but It’s coming along great.
I fell to one knee, hands braced on either side of the large pot. Waterlogged hands gripped my collar, pulling me closer to the murky broth. Somehow, I knew it was over. I knew that was fucking it. It sounds nuts, but I don’t care. I don’t care if it was just a dream. I knew if I touched that fetid water, I was done. The heat of the broth seared my face as I stood inches above it.