I have ominous dreams of flying through thunderstorms.

I blink to shake the sleep from my eyes. It was good to get a really good rest.

“Good Morning.” I hear a voice. My wife’s voice.

I look towards the source of the sound. She looks up from a book she is reading, and also claws back a single strand of errant hair away from her fringe as her eyes focus on me.

It’s a simple, natural gesture, but all I can think of is how warm I feel, being woken by someone else in a normal way.

For many years, the only being woken up by others I ever experienced was when I took an opportune nap in the hospital, and someone jerked me awake for an emergency. Happens a lot when you’re a junior doctor, before you earn the zombie-like constitution to handle those stressful twelve-hour shifts.

She is already dressed; this time in a navy-blue tank top and a pair of black jeans with patches, her hair loosely hanging over her exposed shoulders and collarbones. It’s by far the most casual I’ve seen her so far, almost wild and delinquent looking. And she still pulls it off magnificently as usual.

I make sure to roll onto my side and deliberately bunch my blankets up to mitigate sudden unfortunate morning extension effects from downstairs (a technique mastered in my early teens to prevent my mother making jokes, as all annoying mothers do to their teenage boys).

It’s pulled off shoddily, as I’m out of practice, but I don’t think she notices. Thank goodness.

“What time is it?” I groan, pretending to be groggier than I actually am.

“About eight.” She smiles, flipping a page on her book.

“Wow. I ~really~ was tired then.” I exclaim.

No kidding. That was about eleven hours straight. It’s a good job I’ve got my stretch of days off now. Well, I would have pushed for a shorter date last night if I was working.

“Is your head okay?” I query.

“Yes; I took off the plaster. Not even a scar.” She looks happy at that.

“I healed it with magic just to be sure.” I state.

The book lowers then and she opens her mouth slightly.

“You did!?” She exclaims. “Was I that bad?!”

I shake my head. “Not at all. It would have healed fine in a day or two. But why would I hold back for my wife?”

She grunts and then snickers to herself.

“You’re too good to me, you know.” She complains, but she is clearly bemused and not unhappy.

I shrug. Downstairs has calmed itself, so I stretch and sit up, rolling my shoulder.

“Why are you reading ‘365 days of baking’, by the way? Are you planning to make a cake?” I have to ask. That one is one my few cookbooks.

She shuffles in my PC chair, which has been migrating around a lot recently it seems, and then takes her socked feet off the footstool.

“I can’t cook at all.” She shrugs. “So; I thought I’d try to at least figure out biscuits or something. My friend Kris tells me it’s just following the recipe. But I don’t think you have most of the things this book talks about in the ingredients…” She looks saddened.

I stand up to stretch and chuckle.

“Nope, you’re right, I don’t have much flour or vanilla essence or such in. Actually, I’m out of basically everything. I usually do a weekly shop on my first day off. Are you hungry?”

“I just had a bowl of Grainabix.” She shrugs.

Well at least she can make cereal. That’s a good sign. I’ve actually seen some miraculous people who can somehow fail at it.

“Hm. Well then, if you want to bake, how about we go out shopping and then bake something together?”

Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.

She almost leaps out of her seat.

“You’ll teach me to bake? Really!?”

“I’ll take that as a yes, then?” I chuckle.

“YES! YES!” She chitters. We both laugh.

It’s good that she really shows her true age sometimes, but this is just another strange quirk in my opinion.

“Well, that’s fine. I’m glad you’re enthusiastic, in fact. Any reason you suddenly want to do this?” I ask.

“Mmm… because I never got the chance to? Father saw culinary training as superfluous in making me a good wife, so it was never part of my usual lessons.”

Are you kidding me!? My father-in-law is an IDIOT! Everyone knows a way to man’s heart is through his stomach. Hell, if I didn’t run around a hospital all day, I would probably be podgy from loving good food and being a nerd.

“Yeah, you’re right. He’s an idiot.” She laughs.

“Did I say that out loud?!” I exclaim.

She laughs again. “Nope. But my friends Kris and Fran had the same reaction you did.”

I shake my head at her trick. She got me there.

“Well, I’ll have a shower and some toast and we’ll head out then.”

. . .

You know that look that clear as day marks someone as a tourist? How they look around with their eyes slightly wide, taking in sights, and moving around erratically?

Well, I never thought I’d see that look on someone walking around a SAYESCO Supermarket. At yet, Lapis never fails to disappoint on strange things like this.

“There’s so much food!” She exclaims. I can’t help but chuckle at the shopping alien as I push the trolley.

“I thought you said you were used to the shops around here? Yet you never came into a supermarket?” I question the strange discrepancy.

“But I wasn’t responsible for stocking up the kitchens Jim, why would I come here?” She cocks her head.

“Mm, because you can get things like snacks, cakes, biscuits and sandwiches cheaply? You can walk out with small bits of food; it’s not like it’s a wholesaler, which I imagine your kitchens actually use.”

She blinks as if to say ‘no way!’.

I walk her over to the fresh fridges full of cakes, cream horns, muffins, and donuts of all types and raise my eyebrows.

“Oh. I thought you had to buy cakes from cafés.” She looks mortified. “Why are they so much cheaper?! THERE ARE PANCAKES FOR a quarter the price! Why are they so cheap!?!? How can they make a living?”

“Honestly I’d say the café’s charge way more. Heck, I can make you pancakes for even cheaper than that if you want!” I pick up a pre-made pancake mix bottle and hand it to her.

“My mind is blown.” She drones. I laugh.

Suddenly my pocket buzzes and I pull out my phone.

>> NOTIFICATION: Do not reply. YOU HAVE BEEN BANNED FROM THE CHAT GROUP ‘BULLS BALLS!’ <<

I blink. What a weird spam email. That’s the third one today. All weird stuff saying I’ve been banned from something. Phishers use things like these to try and get you to panic all the time. But these ones suck, at least most of them pretend to be from your bank or the Tax Office, or a Nigerian Prince. I delete it.

Speaking of which, I wonder if the Nigerian Prince scam could be legit in this world? I’ll have to look it up some time, haha.

“What was it?” Lapis asks.

“Spam.” I answer.

She shakes her head. “You’d think these people have something better to do with their day.”

“I know right? Well, I think that’s enough cake ingredients for now. Let’s check out the meat and vegetables and I’ll show you how to pick good packs.”

“Sure.” She nods.

. . .

“So, with chicken, you want to look for the packs with the least gristle and blood, in same way you want the least stringy looking pork.”

Lapis looks mildly disgruntled.

“What’s up?” I ask her. I’ve already confirmed she’s not Vegan, so it’s not that.

“Oh. It’s nothing. I just; I haven’t ever really thought about how the meals come to the plate as much before. I really took the chef for granted.”

I nod. Again, I kind of expected that considering her father’s crazy proclamation that she shared earlier.

“As you know from our theatre bookings… good money and good families really skip a lot of steps.” I comment. “And that… that applies to everything.”

She kicks the air with her foot in response, looking bashful. It’s pretty cute.

“Don’t worry too much about this, though. You don’t have to cook. I can handle it.” I assure her.

“No. I still want to bake at least.” She affirms.

“Fair enough.” I smile to her. “Just always keep in mind what I already told you earlier…”

“I don’t need anything FROM you. I only need YOU.” She whispers.

“Yes, that. I really did mean it.” I tell her, feeling a bit mollified by how cheesy it sounds when she repeats it to me. “Ahem, well, next is the vegetables.”

She nods. I turn to start pushing, but then feel a hand intertwine with mine. I look at her, and she simply cocks her head.

“You have me now, so let’s go, husband.” She says, smirking.

I chuckle. But then I simply grip her hand tightly in mine and start moving.