Dinner was in the oven. He was en route. Her friends had talked up her cooking all week. Her makeup was a little smoky and her outfit was sharp. Her hair smelled great; she was brimming with confidence.
She answered the door, beaming. He complimented her outfit; she glanced away, smiling, before saying he looked great too. She led him to the dining room, bouncing her hair so the smell trailed her. She sat him and went to get dinner.
There was no rush of heat when the door opened and she realized she’d forgotten to turn the oven on.
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