The moment you heard the loud crash from the kitchen, you knew it was going to be one of those days. You sighed, setting down the laundry basket and bracing yourself for whatever chaos awaited you.
When you rounded the corner, you found your newley wedded husband, Nicholas standing there, a look of panic on his face as he held a broom in one hand and a dustpan in the other. Surrounding him was what used to be your favorite glass mixing bowl, now shattered into a thousand pieces on the tile floor.
"Babe," you said, crossing your arms, trying not to laugh. "What happened?"
Nicholas looked up at you, his eyes wide like a guilty puppy. "I was trying to help. You know, be the 'man of the house' and all that. But uh... the bowl didn't make it."
You raised an eyebrow. "Help with what exactly?"
He gestured to the counter, where half-prepped ingredients for what looked like pancakes were scattered everywhere. "I thought I'd surprise you with breakfast. But then I dropped the bowl... and then the whisk fell... and then I panicked. So now I'm cleaning."
You couldn't help but laugh at his expression—equal parts proud and horrified. "Well, points for trying, I guess."
"Hey, don't doubt me," he said, pointing the broom at you like a sword. "I'm taking this role very seriously."
"Oh, clearly," you teased, stepping over the mess to grab a towel and start wiping down the counter.
Nicholas watched you for a moment before gently taking the towel from your hand. "No, no, no. I've got this," he insisted, spinning you around and gently guiding you out of the kitchen. "You're not allowed to lift a finger today."
"Nick—"
"Nope. I'm the man of the house. That means I've got it all under control."
You gave him a skeptical look. "Does that include cleaning up the shattered bowl and making edible pancakes?"
He grinned, giving you a playful nudge toward the couch. "I'll have you know I'm a multitasker. Sit. Relax. Your king has spoken."
With a laugh, you flopped onto the couch, deciding to let him have his moment. From your vantage point, you could see him bustling around the kitchen, trying to juggle cleaning, cooking, and keeping the dog from sneaking off with the pancake batter.
About twenty minutes later, Nicholas appeared in the doorway, holding a plate of slightly lopsided pancakes. His hair was a mess, his shirt had a streak of flour across it, and there was a small bandage on his finger where he'd clearly nicked himself during cleanup. But the proud smile on his face was undeniable.
"Breakfast is served," he declared, setting the plate in front of you like it was a five-star meal.
You picked up your fork, eyeing the pancakes. They were a little uneven and slightly burnt around the edges, but you took a bite anyway. To your surprise, they weren't bad. "Not bad, Chef Chavez," you said with a grin.
He plopped down next to you, stealing a bite from your plate. "Told you I've got it under control."
You leaned into him, resting your head on his shoulder. "You're a mess, but you're my mess."
"And I'm the man of the house," he added, wrapping an arm around you and pulling you closer.
"Let's just stick to that title in theory," you teased.
Nicholas laughed, pressing a kiss to your temple. "Fair enough. But you can't deny—you're kind of impressed."
And as you sat there, eating slightly burnt pancakes with the man who'd just taken down a mixing bowl in the name of love, you couldn't help but agree.
