So, I wrote this following a prompt. It's a romance prompt and since I'm not a romance story kind of person, it was a challenge to write. The prompt is, a romantic scene where a man is cooking for a woman and the woman realises at that moment, that she's in love with him.
Here's what I came up with.
It was a good day. Well, not very good for an average person in the country since it had been raining for almost seven hours, but it was a good one for Michaela. She stretched and pulled the covers over her head. She wouldn’t call herself an average citizen. Not that it mattered anyway. People like her lived and survived without attracting attention, so long as they played the game hard and well.
She peered from under the sheets, watching the rain draw lazy lines on the closed window. She wasn’t exactly sure what woke her up but she could smell coffee at the moment and it felt good. A slight smile tugged at her lips as she stood. She had met Mattie during one her most serious and interesting jobs three months ago. She had welcomed the distraction because that had kept her boss off her back. The old man wouldn’t stop trying to match make her with his son. She rolled her eyes. She enjoyed the young man physically but that was it. She wasn’t exactly the love and marriage type. The thought of babies made her sick. And of course, the young man didn’t seem to mind.
Stifling a laughter, she stepped into the kitchen determined to find that coffee. One step in and froze. Her kitchen looked different. On the tiny gas cooker she never used stood a pot. Yes, stood. That was the only word she could think to describe it. Mattie was bent over it, stirring something reddish. The aroma wafting from it made her a little heady. She continued to stare. Mattie in her kitchen wearing her spotless white apron which wasn’t so spotless anymore considering the little smudge on the green line by the right. The way his hair fell over his forehead looked incredibly beautiful. She had noticed that hair before, right? She wasn’t sure. She bit her lower lip and shook her head slightly. He looked up just then and smiled.
“Good morning, beautiful. Nice shirt,” he said, his eyes moving over her.
She looked down and frowned. She didn’t remember pulling his shirt over her head.
“Come sit down, Sweet. You look a little pale.
He propelled her to the already set table and drew the seat out while she sat.
“Relax Micky. It’s only soup,” he kissed her lightly on the temple and went back to the pot.
Her frown deepened. Somehow, she had become Micky to him. She used to be territorial with everything especially her name, demanding everyone call her Michaela. With him, it had felt natural. Everything about him felt right. Her eyes widened as she looked over to where he stood. His back was to her now. The apron strained against his muscles while he inspected the content of the pot. His small butt looked quite sexy. She swallowed and looked away. She never noticed men like this before. Heck! She never brought them home. Clearly panicked, she brought her hand to her forehead and pressed lightly.
It was beginning to make sense. For weeks, she had slept with him by her side, had turned into his arms in the middle of the night, had buried her face in his chest and sobbed after a nightmare. This morning, she had awoken and unconsciously reached for him. But she had ignored all of it until now. She couldn’t deny it anymore. For the first time in her life, she had fallen in love and fallen hard, and she didn't know what to do about it. More accurately though, she didn't want to do anything at all. It felt a little strange and sweet at the same time. She smiled. Now, she just landed her most difficult job yet; figuring out how to tell him.