Tanner
Bailey sings to the radio over the sound of the faucet, her hands shielded by pink rubber gloves dotted with white daisies. Rain patters the windows in the kitchen as I set a few dishes down next to the sink, smiling down at my girlfriend.
God, she’s beautiful, and I’m one lucky son-of-a-b***h to have her here.
I came home from the job site today to find her in the kitchen up to her elbows in dinner preparations. Cornbread, mashed potatoes with gravy, breaded pork chops, and creamed spinach.
I remember the first time I brought her back to my place. I’d offered to cook her dinner to try to impress her, but I only knew how to make spaghetti with sauce from a jar. So, we ate that, and steak. And the next night, at her old apartment, she made me some type of pasta dish with chick
