Chagrin Confessions

Chapter Thirteen: Happy Penguin Dance

Writer's block is a female dog.
Sorry to take so long posting this, it's also a long filler chapter for what'll come soon.
♡♡♡

🎶 When the moon hits your eye like a big pizza pie, that’s amore
When the world seems to shine like you’ve had too much wine,
That’s amore... 🎶

What on God’s Earth…?

Groaning, I rub my eyes and open them absorbing my surroundings, finding myself on the couch half covered in a duvet. I must have fallen asleep here. Last night’s events come crashing into memory.

That’s when I hear the booming, sonorous male voice singing from the kitchen.

“Bells will ring ting-a-ling-a-ling, ting-a-ling-a-ling, and you’ll sing ‘vita bella’.”

Goddammit, Tommy. It’s too early for this shit.

I rush out of the couch, wiping the drool off my chin and running towards the kitchen. All while trying to pat down the bird’s nest currently residing in my morning hair-do. The view I found, however, left me speechless.

A half-naked Tommy standing by the stove, flipping pancakes on a pan and wearing my "Bite Me" chef's apron. With him wearing that, who wouldn't? Having never seen him shirtless before, I am gobsmacked at how strappingly robust his physique is. He doesn’t have a body-builder’s figure, but his lean physique is toned, his muscles sturdly defined and smooth, which gives the impression that looks after his body. I feel creepy just staring at his muscles moving up and down as he moves around the stove cooking.

“Enjoying the view, love?”

Goddammit, Tommy. Crap.

Clearing my throat, I move around the kitchen island to where he still stood facing the stove. “I’m enjoying the fact that you’re cooking in a pink apron. I’m taking your man card away.” I smirk.

He chuckles and faces me. “Oh please, baby, my man card is intact. I’ve got enough testosterone in these balls to walk around butt naked in the streets of Manhattan. Plus, the ladies could do with a sexy view.” He wiggles his eyebrows with the last part.

I fake gagging while rolling my eyes and lean on the counter. I notice that the island is now filled with sausages, hash browns and sunny-side eggs plates.

“This looks delicious, Tommy. You didn’t have to do all this, honestly. I could’ve had breakfast on the way to work.”

“Shut your Claptrap! Chef Tommy is here to serve your beautiful body with the most delicious breakfast you’ve ever had,” he says, while flipping another pancake. “There’s a fresh coffee pot ready by the side, so have a cup and sit that sexy booty down on the stool. These pancakes are almost done.”

Squealing, I leap to the other side of the counter, and pour myself a cup of warm coffee, taking an initial sip and sighing with bliss.

“God, I love you.”

“I know, babe.” He winks.

“I was talking to the coffee, nitwit.”

He sulks, pouting his lip, and flips the last pancake onto the long tower of pancakes. He drizzles maple syrup over the top, and plops on a few berries to garnish. He sits down on the island next to me, and starts putting various portions of the breakfast on my plate.

I take a bite of the pancakes first, and moan in delight as my taste buds dance with joy. The softness and creamy texture of the pancakes, with the sweetness of the syrup and the addition of the berry all seem to perfectly synchronise together.