I. Haggis

When she gets home from work one evening, there's a fire already crackling orange and gold in the grate and their best crockery is laid out on the table. "Tom?" she calls cautiously, hanging her key on the back of the door.

He appears from the bedroom, a smile cracking his face wide. "Hello, love. How was your day?"

"Good, thank you," she says, draping her coat across the back of one of the chairs and leaning against him as he laces his arms around her waist. "You've been busy."

"I know." His breath sends little shivers fluttering down her spine as he presses hisses along her jawline. "Would you like to sit down, and I'll get dinner off the stove."

She nods and he pulls out a chair for her, and turns to take an unidentifiable round object from the stove which is quickly hidden from her view as he puts it on the side. "How did you get back so early?" she asks idly, noticing the way his fair hair is raggedy at the back, some bits a little longer than others as though he's not lingered long enough on the cutting of it.

"My operation was quicker than expected, so they gave me the rest of the afternoon off. I had to write the report, but it's an easy one so it shouldn't take too long." He turns around with two plates in his hands, putting one in front of her. She stares at it – brown, grainy, slightly burnt-looking – is that oats in there?

Thomas watches her for a second, then laughs, the sound bubbling over his lips and warming the air in the kitchen in the way no fire or stove ever could. "Don't look so suspicious, Kitty."

"What is it?"

"Haggis with neaps and tatties. It's Burns Day today, so I thought I'd do something festive."

"Haggis," Kitty echoes, poking the slices of it with her fork. "What's in it, Tom, it looks…"

"Disgusting?" he supplies dryly. "I'm not telling you until you've tried it or you won't eat it."

Kitty slants him a look, wondering what on earth he means by that comment, then picks up the tiniest portion and puts it in her mouth. It's spicy, slightly sour, meaty, but the intriguing taste sinks into her tongue and she picks up a bigger bit, and before she knows it, she's finished her whole plate.

Thomas' is already clean, and he's leaning back in his chair, amusement sparking from his blue eyes. She dabs daintily at her lips with a napkin. "So are you going to tell me what was in it?"

"Oats," he says, a devilish smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. "Oats, lamb offals – so heart, lungs, liver – onions and suet, all cooked in a sheep's stomach."

Bile rises hot in her throat, and she stares at him. "Tom…that's truly vile."

He laughs again. "But you liked it, didn't you?"

She smiles, and then he's standing and wrapping his arms around her, and kissing her again until she feels like a cloud floating away into the great blue unknown. "Alright," she admits when they finally break apart. "Yes, I liked it."