Status: Complete.
"Face it, dove, I've sparked your interest."
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Alyssa isn't looking for a fairytale; she has a perfect life in California with nothing more to ask for. But when she gets herself shipped off to England due to a major screw up, she m...
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Sunday dawned bright and beautiful, for a day in rainy England. I woke up beside Daylen as usual and roused him out of bed in excitement—we had a full day ahead of us!
We went to church in the morning and I said an extra prayer of gratitude with a happy smile on my face that I had Daylen to celebrate Thanksgiving with and I wasn't as lonely as I feared I'd be. Gosh, I'd been such a silly-billy all week! Went through all that misery for nothing.
We returned to Angel Lane after church to prep the feast we were gonna take to the hospital—Daylen had told his mom that we'd be coming for dinner and she was thrilled, from his report. She told him she couldn't wait to meet me. On one hand, I was nervous; on the other, I honestly couldn't wait to meet my boyfriend's mom. If she was anything like Daylen, I loved her already.
What really mattered was—I had a heartthrob on this special day and wasn't homesick anymore.
"Oh, no!" Daylen's cry of dismay made me look up—we were flittering around his studio kitchen (he preferred to cook in his own space) wearing red plaid aprons and getting things ready when I heard his outcry.
"What's wrong?" I asked anxiously. Daylen turned to me with an agitated expression, holding a tray with what was supposed to be a naked turkey.
"Daylen, if something's wrong, I don't see it. All I see is a butt-naked bird," I said with a laugh. Daylen groaned.
"That's the problem, Lys. It's a chicken, not a turkey. I ordered it three days ago, particularly asking the butcher for a turkey—the chap sent chicken instead with a note saying he was out of turkey! Said there are quite a few Americans in London who celebrate Thanksgiving and bagged the birds first!" Daylen laid the tray on the table, his head hanging low and looking utterly crestfallen for a minute. Then he turned to me. "I'm sorry I couldn't get turkey, Lys, but apparently one has to book the bloody bird five months in advance so they can hatch it up for your table by Thanksgiving." You've gotta be kidding me. Snorts of laughter spilled out of me, that was just too hilarious!
"This isn't funny, Lys, this is a disaster!" Daylen said with an expression of discomfort. I patted his arm.
"Daylen, sweetie, famines and wars are disasters. This is just a minor setback that passes as a blessing in disguise. I love chicken."
"Oh." Daylen blinked at me. He whined in his throat. "But I wanted to give you the perfect Thanksgiving and without the turkey—"
"Sweet pea, Daylen, it ain't about the bloody bird!" I laughed, wrapping my arms around him. "Oh great, now I sound like you..." A little smile quirked up the corners of his mouth. At least he was cheering up. I patted his cheek.
"Daylen, I couldn't care less if we were eating grilled cheese sandwiches and vending machine coffee today, it'd still be a win-win for me."
"Heaven forbid, I've got a feast planned out!" Daylen exclaimed, scandalized. I giggled—he was adorable as a mother hen when it came to cooking.
