@flawedlouise || continued from (xx)
When Will came bustling into the house, he was a rush of swears and heavy garments. It was exceptionally cold that day, and all he wanted to do was grab a cup of coffee, curl up on the sofa, and read by the fire for the remainder of the evening. Though the moment he heard the banging pots and pans, he instantly knew he’d been given other plans for the night.
Stepping into the kitchen, Will arched a brow as he unwound his scarf from his neck. Louise seemed to jump with guilt. “Hungry? For phantom food?” he teased, taking note that the oven wasn’t on. “I’m as supportive as anyone of ‘make believe,’ and high imaginations, but I regret to inform you that you’ll be malnourished if you keep up this diet.”
Shrugging out of his coat, Will moved to hang everything up in the hallway. “Fortunately, we do have a mixing bowl -- at least three, in fact. When you’re an adult and male, there comes the tragic ‘I didn’t know what to get you for Christmas this year, so hi, I’m your Secret Santa’ gift exchanges in the break room.”
Returning to the kitchen, Will’s eyes sparkled with amusement as he bent over and plucked the largest mixing bowl from a (rather haphazard) pile in the bottom cupboard. “What are you trying to make, anyway? I know you’re probably sick of my pancakes and grilled cheese, but those are a bachelor’s staples. That, and soup. Anything from a can is a Godsend.”