In the cozy room, daylight breaks through the cheerful blue curtains. (As you can see, they match the rug).
Resplendent in its orange and brown casing, a single peanut butter cup sits upon the wooden chopping block on the kitchen counter. Dominant, king of its domain. The door swings open soundlessly on well-oiled hinges, and Amanda King bustles into the room. She is wearing jeans, faded and comfortable. Her Georgetown sweatshirt hangs off her willowy frame, barely concealing the dusting rag you know is tucked into her waistband.
She spies the candy and frowns. Her warm brown eyes rapidly scan the room, searching for something or someone she senses should be there. Her gaze is drawn back to the temptingly treat. You know she wants it. Very slowly, she turns the wooden block. With great care, she wipes away a tiny crumb that mars the rough surface.
One eyebrow rises as she unfolds the shiny paper from the object of her concentration. Stopping only to dispose of the outer layer in a well-placed and easy to reach rubbish receptacle. With the edge of a fingernail, she peels back the final barrier, exposing the side ridges of the chocolate to the warm morning air, stopping periodically to ensure the wrapper comes away cleanly, without disturbing the luscious centre.
She cocks her head, apparently admiring how the sun's rays highlight the contrast between the light oak wood of the chopping block and the darker cocoa confection that crowns it. She sighs, leans over the surface, and sniffs. Involuntarily, you sniff, too, savoring the heady aroma of chocolate and peanuts.
Carefully, deliberately, Amanda picks up the delectable creaminess. Fingers placed at a strategic angle to ensure maximum movement while still deploying optimal hygiene.
She draws the goodness to her lips. Silently she nips away small bites and lets the sugary candy dissolve in her mouth. Standing straight to avoid spillage.
A smile hovers at the edges of her mouth. Her tongue sweeps from behind faintly opened lips, capturing the last sweet vestige, leaving her lips glistening. You wonder why no one has marketed a chocolate and peanut flavored lipstick.
Abruptly, she moves away from the immaculate, now bereft board.
Slowly, thoroughly, she turns her hands under cool water. The faucet sounds loud in the quiet room. Briskly, she
dries her hands on the hand towel, folds it neatly again, and heads for the door. Pausing only to adjust the chopping block slightly from its previous position.
Amanda reaches for the delectable candy, no longer able to resist its potent aroma. She pauses, eyes closed, smiling sinfully as she imagines how good the smooth chocolate will feel as it slides down her throat, leaving that little hint of peanut in its wake . . .
Lee grasps the door frame. He'd stared and desired the prize for far too long already. He is a man of action, and his body demands that he go for it.
She reaches for the chocolaty goodness, unable to deny herself any longer. Her hand touches the rough wooden surface, only to find . . .
Rudely jolted back to reality, she opens her eyes just in time to see Lee pop the last piece of the Reese's package into his mouth.
"What?" he mumbles.
Timeline: ? I would say probably after marriage.