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When Phil gets home, he finds Chris in the kitchen. He has all four stove burners going, each with a pot of dark brown liquid on top. “Hey,” Phil says.
Chris looks up and smiles. “Hey,” he replies, accepting a kiss as Phil wraps his arms around his waist. “You’re right on time. How was your day?”
“Pretty good. What are you making?”
“Hot chocolate,” Chris replies.
Phil frowns. “You need four pots to make hot chocolate?”
“Only if your husband was raised by wolves and has never had hot chocolate made from scratch,” Chris says.
“Hey!” Phil protests playfully. “If my mom could hear you right now—”
“Okay, I’m sorry.” Chris raises his hands in mock surrender. “You were raised by perfectly nice, normal people, who just so happened to suffer from a severe culinary deficiency.”
“Better.” They share a smile. “So, you’re making four different types of hot chocolate?” Chris nods. “What are they?”
“Regular, peppermint, caramel, and cinnamon,” Chris says, pointing to each pot as he names its flavor.
“Sounds tasty. Do we have marshmallows?”
“Yeah, just give me a few hours and I’ll whip some up.” Phil freezes and Chris grins. “I’m kidding. They’re in the pantry.”
“Very funny.” Phil shakes his head and opens the pantry doors.
“But I did make whipped cream from scratch,” Chris says. “It’s in the fridge.”
“Of course you did.” Phil tosses the bag of marshmallows onto the counter next to Chris. “This is as far as my contribution goes.”
“You know, you really can make marshmallows from scratch,” Chris informs his husband as he ladles hot chocolate into four cups carefully arranged on a tray. “And they’re much better than anything you can buy or replicate. I can show you.”
Phil pretends to think about it. “Maybe next time.”