The rich smell of butter and sugar wafts in the comfortable silence.
Smiling eyes look across the table conveying more than words can express.
The crust is still warm and flaky.
Big bites have turned into nibbles.
A futile attempt at prolonging the inevitable.
Desperately clinging to morsels so tasty, so fleeting.
"Do you like it?" she asks
An upturned gaze is the only response.
Minutes tick by and nary a crumb is left on the plate.
A testament to her half day's labor.
"The best I've ever had" he smiles in satisfaction.
The flash of an incredulous smirk as she looks down and wisps of auburn hair fall to the sides of her face.
Another slice is offered and declined.
As if acceptance of another would diminish the whole entirely.
A gentle kiss on cheek is offered, in tribute for the nourishment.
"I'll get the dishes" he says halfway to the sink.
Smiling eyes look across the table.
As silverware clinks on chipped and weathered china.
--Pablo G., Adult