“Smells Good”

The smell of burning onions filled the kitchen. Knives were slicing and dicing vegetables and meats.

“Fuck,” she screamed as the knife cut into her finger. Her blood mixed with the juice from uncooked steaks.

She wrapped a paper towel around her finger and dug through a few drawers until she found the scotch tape buried under years of collected trinkets.

The stove hissed as boiling water overflowed from the pot and ran over the gas flame. The microwave beeped, signaling the bread was ready to be removed from the oven. The sound of the noisy street below added to her anxiety as the doorbell rang across the apartment.

“Shit,” she said to herself, realizing she wasn’t ready yet. Her hair was a mess, her mascara was running. She found her shoes under a pile of clothes. She picked up the pile of clothes and threw them into the closet in the hallway. The doorbell rang again.

“Just a second,” she yelled as she ran into the bathroom to examine herself in the mirror. What a mess, she thought.

“You’re gonna do just fine,” she told her reflection and put on her favorite red lipstick. She smacked her lips and winked. “You’re hot stuff.”

She ran to the door and opened it. He stood there smiling, holding a bouquet of yellow roses.

“Hi,” he said.

“Hi,” she said, smiling. “Come in.”

He handed her the bouquet and she smelled the roses.

“Smells good,” he said, taking in the sight of her apartment for the first time.

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