James – Thirty-Five Weeks
I stride into the kitchen fanning smoke away from my face.
Charlotte stands by the grill, the pan a grisly mess of soot and curled-up charcoal.
She bursts into tears. "I burned the toast."
Briskly dipping a tea-towel into the sink, I drape it over the grill-pan, then pull her into a hug. "It's not a disaster. No harm's been done. And we can afford another loaf." I guide her to the table. "Now sit down and I'll make you some more toast. What would you like on it? Honey? Marmalade? Cheese?"
She sniffles, her face low. "Just butter, please." Then she jerks up again. "I'm really sorry. I didn't mean..."
"Charlotte... Charlotte..." I draw up a chair by her, pull her face to mine, kiss her forehead. "You have it all out of proportion. Come on, see the funny side."
