me, 10:44 a.m.: Surprise me?? 😀
gus, 10:45 a.m.: Deal 😉
Thursday, 12:30 on the dot & my leather flats hit the threshold of our little yellow house, the wreath on the door swinging & the red-glitter fa la la la la! ornament in the center catching the sunlight.Inside, the Foreman grill is yawned open in the center of the kitchen table, a plate of freshly-made, perfect-circle hamburger patties alongside.
“Burgers!” I exclaim, meeting my love mid-kitchen for hi-I’m-home-and-you’re-awesome kisses.
“Not just ANY burgers,” he announces, turning to add the patties to the grill. “Sliders. Bacon and cheddar STUFFED sliders. AND—”
Sliders situated on the grill’s ridges, he closes the lid and turns to the back counter, making a sweeping gesture at the sliced contents atop the bright-yellow cutting board.
Three neat piles display, in order, miniature sliced-up dill pickles, torn-up pieces of bite-size lettuce, and bitty Roma tomato slices.
The timer on the microwave beeps, and he turns to open the oven, grabbing a (damask) oven mitt as he goes.
“Oh, yeah, I made homemade fries, too, with olive oil and paprika. And there’s glass-bottle Cokes in the fridge.”