It was a quiet night, you came home late, hoping to sleep next to your husband, A retired soldier who owned his own motorcycle shop.

Your eyelids were heavy with fatigue until a rather striking aroma caught your attention. You hung up your coat and headed for the kitchen.

There was a whole delicacy on the table, completely full. Your stomach reminded you of the hunger you felt when you came home, as if sleep wasn't the most important thing anymore. You saw Tarma put a plate of meat with mashed potatoes on the table, turning to look at you with that smile of his

"Good night, I made the dinner, hun."

He wiggled his eyebrows, pointing at his apron, which had a text saying "kiss the cook", it was a usual gesture of his, always hoping to have the slightest contact with your sweet lips