disclaimer: i own the ideas only.

TWENTY-FIVE - DISASTERS OF THE KITCHEN VARIETY

I wish you could see your face right now
'Cause you're grinning like a fool
And we're sitting on your kitchen floor
On a Tuesday afternoon

I watched intently as Tom went to take his first bite of the eggs that I had helped make, smiling the whole time. Right before the food was in his mouth, he noticed my watching him and stopped. A moment later, when I didn't take my eyes off him, he continued.

"Mmm," he began, swallowing, "this is actually pretty good. Who made it, Dara?"

"I did," I replied, smiling my normal smile.

"Dara, how many things have you made that were even slightly edible?" Tom asked, countering my pervious statement.

"Uh, there was that time. And that other time. And the time after that. And the time with the cookies. And the time when you were teaching me to cook. And the time Lauren and Josh were teaching me to bake. And the time with the cupcakes. And the time with the potatoes. And the time with the milk. And the time with the peaches. And the time with the eggs," I said, rambling together a list of things that I had done in the kitchen. "So, about five," I concluded, smiling brightly.

"You said way more than five," Tom pointed out.

Laughing, I agreed.

"Which ones were the ones where you actually made something?"

"I made cookies when I was eight with my Mum, Lauren, and Lauren's Mum," I began. Tom laughed. "And the time when Lauren and I made cookies and brought them over after I sprained my ankle after I found out my ex was cheating on me."

"Wait, that was the reason you were upset?" he asked, slightly startled.

It occurred to me only after I had said it that I had never told Tom why I was so upset the first time I had been over. I realised he was so startled by it because my latest ex-boyfriend had cheated on me as well. "Yeah. And the worst part was is that it wasn't the first time I had been cheated on. I just hoped that it had been the last…."

"Which was why you were so upset last night," he concluded, finishing my sentence for me.

"I guess that makes sense," I told him. I hadn't actually thought of it like that, but now that he said it, it made perfect sense.

"Alright, anyways, what were the other times?" he asked, returning to our original topic of my making edible foods.

"Okay. Then there was the time I made those cupcakes. The ones with the little rainbow bits in them. You remember them!" I told him, smiling at the memory of making something.

"How could I forget them?" he replied, looking away.

"What do you mean by that?" I asked, trying to catch his gaze.

He mumbled something in response that sounded kind of like, "Those were so not edible." I asked him what he had said. "Adara, half of them were burnt so bad, you couldn't get the papers off. The others were barely cooked."

"Oh. But I thought you guys said you liked them," I countered.

He raised his hands in innocence. "I did nothing of the sort."

"Okay. I thought Dougie said he like them."

"He did like them. He ate most of the undercooked ones. Somehow. Did you even try them before giving us them?"

"Why, yes, yes I did!"

"And what did you think?"

"I thought they tasted quite interesting, thanks!" I paused a moment before adding, "It was my first cupcake, actually. Mum never made cupcakes, only cakes."

"Dara, cupcakes and cakes are the same thing. They're supposed to taste the same, too."

"Are they? Hmm, that's rather interesting."

"Anyways, that one doesn't count, alright? What was the next one?"

"Okay, and then there was the time with the potatoes."

"The potatoes that I made, or the ones that you made?" Tom asked, laughing.

I thought about it for a moment. "Okay, yeah, that was a complete fail on my part."

"Yes, I agree."

"Okay, then there was the time with the milk."

"Dara, what does that even mean?"

"What do you mean? I milked a cow and a goat!" He looked so startled and confused at once it was funny and I had to laugh. "And then, with the two types of milk, I made butter! I was like, fourteen, but it counts." Pausing, I thought about how much work it had been, churning that milk into butter. "It's why I have these," I told him, flexing to show off the muscles I gained that day.

He poked one of my arms. Nodding approvingly, he said, "Firm; not bad. Now, what about the peaches?"

"I was four when I helped my Mummy make peach cobbler," I answered, smiling like a four-year-old.

All Tom could do in response to this one was laugh. I laughed along with him.

"So basically," he began when he had calmed down again, "with the exception of the butter, you've made one edible thing on your own – and I use that term rather loosely. So, given this evidence, what's going to make me believe that you actually made these eggs?"

"Fine," I said, exasperated, but still smiling, "your Kitchen Thief made them."

"Danny?"

"How d'ya guess? Is he there every morning, stealing your eggs?"

"Well, basically, yeah."

Finally, after finding out that I actually hadn't made him breakfast, but that Danny had, he was able to eat again. I tried my breakfast, too, finding that it didn't make me feel queasy (due to my over drinking the previous night). We finished the food pretty quickly.

"Thanks for last night," I said after a long period of quiet. "I don't know where I'd be now if it weren't for you. Seriously, thank you." I leaned over to give Tom a hug of gratitude, kissing his cheek in the process. "I'm… going to go catch a shower," I said, pulling away, suddenly realising just how dirty I actually was from last night.

"Catch a shower?" Tom asked, smiling.

It was when he mentioned this that I realised I had used a verb that hadn't made much sense in the sense I had just tried to used it. "Grab, grab. I'm going to go grab a shower," I tried again as I backed towards the loo.

A while later, I climbed back out of the shower, finally feeling clean again. I realised while I had been in the shower that I would have to wear what I had had on before I showered, but when I was about to pull it back on after having towel-dried myself, I noticed a paper on the floor by the door. It read as follows:

Don't put what you

Wore back on.

I'm no creep,

Don't you worry!

In the other room,

You will find some

Things of your choosing

For you to wear.

I smiled at the note Tom had written before wrapping in a towel and heading to "the other room," where there was a paper bag on the bed. Inside, there were a few articles of clothing that I could pick from to wear. After looking through the clothing, I settled on a dress that I thought would fit the best out of everything that was in the bag.

Once I was dressed, I went to find Tom. He was in the kitchen with the other guys and girls, where they were all sat around the table, drinking stuff and talking. I sat on Tom's lap just because (well, actually, there were no seats left, unless you counted the counter, table, or the floor).

"You really are amazing, you know that?" I whispered into his ear. "Thank you." I placed another kiss on his cheek before jumping back up.

song: a daydream away by all time low.

an: many thanks!