Serena Rosette
The clock ticked loudly in the quiet kitchen. Each second seemed to stretch longer than the last, heightening the anticipation swirling in my chest. I wiped my palms down the front of my apron, the simple cotton fabric now feeling too tight around me. My nerves buzzed—was everything perfect? I glanced around again, reassured by the perfectly set table, the two plates and two glasses set with care, the soft amber glow of the candlelight flickering in the center, the wine breathing softly, waiting to be poured. The rich aroma of roasted chicken and herbs filled the air, mingling with the faint tang of butter.
Everything was ready.
Now, all that was missing was him.
I stood still for a moment, my fingers nervously adjusting the hem of my dress. It was simple—light and easy—
