Fire Cookies: The Sequel (in progress)

 It was an awfully large laundry pile, considering there were only two people in the house. Perhaps that was because the master of the house had a dreadful habit of leaving clothes all over the place so that no one realized how much there were until they were collected. Or perhaps it was because the mistress of the house had been royally ignoring the laundry pile for the last three days. Aforementioned mistress had now finally settled down to fold laundry with a groan of distaste.

But the pile was fated to grow larger yet for she was interrupted at a crucial moment by a terrific clatter in the kitchen. Terrific clatters when the only other person in the house was Rich were very alarming things indeed. The laundry was promptly forgotten again.

And so it languished away in a heap of misery whilst its mistress dashed off towards the sound of greatest disturbance. She had half a thought in her head that from the sound of it, he could very well have his head caught in a tin pail,and be in need of vegetable oil and someone to administer whilst laughing hysterically. And she could do that, she was an expert laugher-ater by this time. Wasn’t too bad with rescue missions, either.

The kitchen was a disaster scene. That was the first thing she noticed. And the second thing was that he did not actually have his head stuck, for he was looking rather forlornly at her. The rest of him, however, did appear to be stuck and she stood there a moment or two laughing hysterically whilst wondering how exactly he had gotten himself into such a fix. 

"The world caved in on me," Rich groaned from beneath the pile of pots and pans on the floor. Above him, the cupboard doors stood open and the cupboard was completely empty. "Run and tell the king the sky is falling. Save yourself. As for me..." He groaned again, very dramatically. "A short life and a merry one. Remember... I... love... you..." With a gasping wheeze, he sank back on the floor and promptly died, very realistically.

Something that felt very much like a sock-covered toe set to work tickling him back to life.

It took its job very seriously, and it was not a very long time before the wheezing started up again.

It started up with a vengeance, and it kept going until the victim gave up and begged for mercy with tears of laughter streaming down his now muchly enlivened face. 

Nikki, face careful wiped clean of any expression that might serve to indicate amusement, stood glaring down at him with her hands on her hips.

"What on earth have you done to my kitchen, Tarzan?" 

She did not sound amused in the least. The twinkle in her eye would have proved her amused, but alas! Rich did not see it. He fell back again, with another groan. A large saucepan slipped from the pile and knocked him none-too-gently on the head before bouncing onto the floor.

"Wedding... present... planning..." He gasped out, once again at the point of death.

And Nikki choked on a laugh that just would not stay put. 

“Well if this is how you plan, maybe I should make you do this out in the garage, eh?”

There was a dismal shake of the poor, mistreated and twice revived head on the floor, and a corresponding rattle of pots.

“Ain’t got the ingredients out there. And besides, the process is half science, I’m pretty sure. Need the counter. And your mixing bowls.”

Nikki gaped at him. “So you stood on MY countertop to reach for MY mixing bowls, and practically levelled MY kitchen. Not to mention my husband.”

She looked at the blue circle forming underneath one of his eyes and tsk-tsked sternly at him, stopping to lay a finger on it ever so carefully. 

He squinted pleadingly at her with his good eye. 

"Oh, have a heart. I'm doing this for YOUR sister! And see the battle scars I've gotten? I shall die of my wounds unless you cure me... there's only one way to do it, you know..." The last bit he added hopefully. Nikki wasn't buying it.

"Oh, get up, you," she scoffed, tugging him to his feet. "Clean up this disaster and while you do that, you'd better explain what you're up to..." she narrowed her eyes. "And you'd better have a good explanation. " with that, she shoved a bowl in his hands and shoved him, with equal force, towards the cupboard.

And about three mixing bowls in, her curiosity got the better of her. Just like he’d known it would.

“Rich…. What on EARTH has this got to do with Linnaea??”

He grinned a conspiratorial and much pleased grin—he’d seen her giving away, and had been waiting for this to happen for several minutes already—and leaned in, whispering something in her ear, hand cupped around it for security purposes.

A light of understanding grew in her eyes, the like of which was not to be underestimated by any means. It looked like duct tape escapades. It looked like Mud Chiefs, and it looked DANGEROUS. He should know.

But it wasn’t scaring either of them, because this time—this time they were on the same side. And beware all who entered the lair unawares!

"Aha! Tarzan... it appears I have married a genius," Nikki cried in delight while Rich beamed. "Well of course I did, haven't I always had good taste?"

"The best," Rich grinned as Nikki went on, stacking bowls and saucepans with an unparalleled haste.

"You should have consulted me in the beginning," she shook her head. "I know exactly what to do. Here... stick these in the cupboard and that one... that big one there... set that on the counter. C'mon, move it, slowpoke, let's get this show on the road!"

They mixed, and they tasted, they sprinkled cautiously, and then scooped recklessly, they pondered thoughtfully, and stuck in fingers in lieau of second guessing…. And dashed to the fridge for a carton of milk no less than 3 times. This was Rich, who protested to being set on fire for more than 3 seconds at one time, and eventually rigged a canteen so as to have it on him at all times. It naturally followed that he was dubbed Chief Taste-Tester, although Nikki, being of a higher heat-tolerance than him, did find it necessary to do final testing on the finished product. 

And at last it was ready.

Rich, tears streaming down his face and neatly matching the tomato-salt shaker, declared it to be so. 

And in all its glory, there it lay. A napkin, scrambled full, scribbled on, torn at one crucial intersection, (this did not render it illegible, if you squinted from one side) jotted on within an inch of its life. 

The ultimate, most unmistakably personalized, tailored to fit wedding present any one of them was likely ever to get. Except maybe the ones they had gotten.

Nikki sighed sentimentally. “It’s perfect.”

Rich wiped away a tear, overcome at the sight. “Beautiful.” 

(He very handily happened to have some left over from the eating of the prize, and so did not find it necessary to cry new ones for this) 

Rich looked at Nikki, and Nikki looked at Rich. They both looked at the napkin again.

Nikki squinted a little dubiously, 

“Rich…. You don’t think they’re gonna come after us for this, do you? I mean, we’re married people now. Staid. Respectable.”

Rich put in helpfully, “We bake COOKIES in our spare time.”

Nikki nodded, a little absentmindedly. “Yeah, that.”

“So…. You don’t think they will?” 

Her husband planted a kiss dead centre of her forehead.

“If they do, I’m gonna take you on a second honeymoon. And we ain’t coming back til it blows over.”