A Chick-Literary Magazine for writers & readers of women's fiction and romantic comedy.
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SHORT STORY
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Always listen to your heart, because even though it's on your left side, it's always right. - Nicolas Sparks
The smell of freshly brewed coffee lures me up out of sleep, and the bed presses down beside me as Jack crawls up. He nuzzles my neck and whispers, "I feel like some morning nookie."
It's a birthday tradition for us. We usually end up too sluggish from our nightly junk food binges while we watch movies to have sex much anymore - part of the reason I'm intent on cleaning up my diet and losing weight. Among a wide plethora of complaints like aching knees and sleep apnea, I miss sex.
I open my eyes, fully prepared to get right to it, because no matter how big we've both gotten, which has presented its own sex challenges, Jack still rocks my world.
But I freeze when I see the small mountain of hand-sized chocolate chip cookies beside the coffee pot. Disappointment floods me. I don't need to count to know there will be 31. One for each year of my life. It's another birthday tradition - one that I specifically requested we skip because I started a diet last month.
I sit up and frown down at Jack reclined beside me. "Where did the cookies come from?" When he hears the rarely-present edge of anger in my voice, he glances at the cookies and his ears flush a deep red, and then he gives me the smile he knows I can't resist and starts to stroke my arm.
"Come on, babe, how could I dishonour our first tradition as a couple? It was the first time you said you loved me, among other firsts." He waggles his eyebrows up and down, and the reminder rapidly cools my temper and suffuses me with a warm rush of happiness. He knows Pretty Woman is my favourite movie, so ten years ago, he'd climbed a ladder to my second-story window at the crack of dawn with a dozen roses and a box of 21 cookies so freshly baked they were still warm from the oven.
It was so romantic.
"Aren't you glad I'm not like other guys who don't even remember their girlfriends' birthdays? And I always remember to get you peonies for Valentine's Day, too." He sniggers, and I know he's thinking about the pneumonic he uses to remember my favourite flower: He's calls them 'pee-ons'. For the entire time the bouquet lasts, he'll ask at least twice a day if the 'pee-ons' are surviving, cackling like it's the funniest joke in the world every time. It always irritates me, and is the main reason I don't ask for them more often. I don't want to be irritated with my boyfriend. He smiles smugly. "You're so lucky to have me."
