You were cooking in the kitchen. Spinach and Artichoke chicken. You wanted to make it for Hondo, when you feel a pair of large toned arms hug you from behind.

It was Hondo.

He burrowed his face in the crook of your neck with a huff, '' Babygirl, how many times have I told you not to step into the kitchen? ''

You lean back against him, smiling up at him with such pure joy in your lovely face, '' I finally made a good dish for you hondo. '' you say soft and happy.

'' And got yourself burned in the process. '' Hondo murmured zeroing on the tiny burns in your hand from where the hot oil must have flickeredl from the pan. His expression immediately grew pained. You were his sweet lovely wife. His purest and most precious of gifts from God. Even a scratch on your skin, the altar he admired, was a heart wrenching thing for him, let alone a burn.