Dance of the Flour
Her eyebrows furrowed as the mixture in the bowl became hard to mix. Still she hummed to the music playing from the living room, her mood unaffected as she began a wrestling match with the bowl in her arms. Around her, the kitchen was a mess from her day-long task of baking. Flour dusted the countertops and every visible inch of her shirt, sugar sparkled on the sink edges and the floor. Half-used bowls of butter and beaten eggs lined the counter, and every nook and cranny was littered with egg shells and dirtied spoons, spatulas, and bags of chocolate chips. The table was covered with a rolling pin, rolling mat, and a tub full of assorted cookie cutters. 
As soon as this dough mixes enough, I can get to the fun part, she thought. But it was taking a while, and the longer she tried to stir the thicker the dough got, and soon her wrists were tired from trying to mix it. Out of habit, she stuck her tongue out of the side of her mouth in concentration. Her long, wavy hair had started to fall out of its ponytail, and was beginning to fall into her face. She flicked her head back, but the stubborn hair fell right back into her vision again and she didn't bother to try and fix it again. 
In the other room, a fireplace crackled merrily and the Christmas carols flowed from the speakers of the sound system. The sparkling Christmas tree in the corner was lit not only by its own lights, but by the dull dark gray of the world outside the glass windows, where snow was falling hard and fast. 
"Hey, what's going on in here?" he said as he rounded the corner. As soon as his eyes fell on the kitchen, he stopped and stared at the mess in shock. "It's a mess! What are you making, anthrax?"
"Not anthrax. Cookies." she corrected, but she heard the laughter in his tone. A smile curled her lips as she turned the dough onto the rolling mat, and began to flour the rolling pin. "You know you like it when I make cookies. Don't act so tough."
"Oh but I am tough." he replied lightly, opening the fridge and leaning in for a cranberry cooler. "How long have you been at this, anyway?"
"Since five."
He coughed on a mouthful of cooler. "In the morning?? It's three in the afternoon!"
"Yep. Oh, honey, you have toothpaste on your mouth....right here..." she pointed to her own lips, but he missed the spot entirely. "No, other side...more to the left...sorry, my's let me-"
She reached out and wiped off the toothpaste, only to leave a much bigger, much whiter streak of flour. He might not have noticed, except that her face portrayed all of her guilt with huge, surprised brown eyes. He reached up to his mouth as he set his drink on the table, pulling away his fingers to see them covered in white flour. A smirk arched his lips and a devilish fire lit in his dark eyes. "You did that on purpose."
"No I didn't!" she cried honestly, as he rolled up his sleeves and dumped his hands into the flour bowl in one fluid motion. Her laughing pleas for mercy turned into shrieks of giggles as he ran his hands down her face, covering her skin in flour. She pulled away and turned her head, but he only caught her around the waist and pulled her close to him again, as he dumped his free hand in the flour again. "This'll teach you to--no, don't!"
She had grabbed the can of whipped topping off he counter, where she had set it after topping off her cup of hot chocolate earlier. Spinning in his arms as much as he would allow, she aimed the nozzle at him and fired it like a weapon. The whipped cream his his cheek and collar, falling down the front of his shirt in fluffy tendrils. His eyes got wide in shock as she backed away, laughing like a woman who knew she was in trouble. "Now look, honey, I'm sorry but you left me no choice---what are you doing?"
He advanced on her slowly, a devilishly playful grin on his face and a can of frosting in his hand. "Come here, babe, I promise it won't hurt..."
She giggled and backed up until she felt the corner of the counter trap her retreat. "No, baby, please don't, not with frosting, please--" but her plea for mercy was cut short as she felt his fingers smear the sugary paste across her lips and cheeks. 
"There." he laughed triumphantly, and she made a dash for the flour canister on the counter. But he was faster, and caught her in his arms. At some point the struggle turned into an embrace, and for a few moments they stared at each other with a smile before she reached out to dip her finger into the cookie dough. "Here. Wattcha think?"
He leaned forward and gently ate the cookie dough off her finger, his lips wiping her skin clean. "Hm...needs something." he leaned forward again and licked a dollop of frosting off her nose. She giggled, and his eyes took in her smiling face, covered in flour and frosting. Licking the last of the whipped cream from his lips, he leaned forward and kissed her. She smiled against him, and wrapped her arms about his neck. For a few blissful minutes they stayed there, trading kisses and tastes of frosting and whipped cream. Then he pulled away gently and patted her rear with his hand, heading into the living room. "Thank you, that was tasty. Cookie dough wasn't bad either." 
She giggled to herself and shook her head as she went back to cutting her cookies. He'd often told her he liked it when she made cookies. Now she began to wonder, was it the cookies he really liked, or was it the fun he seemed to like to pull when she was baking? 
"Hm...." she grinned, cutting out a star. "Maybe I should make cookies more often."

StarPoet   StarPoet wrote
on 4/8/2009 3:33:52 AM
I agree with Justwrite. Imagery was so real that you could almost feel it. Nice work!

justwrite   justwrite wrote
on 4/7/2009 7:18:27 AM
Hi, Good stuff. You seem to have a knack for light romance. The scene was vivid in descrpition. I could feel The holiday spirit and the loving joy of the two people. Nice job. Keep on writing. Sincerely, Ingrid

Moonrose   Moonrose wrote
on 4/6/2009 7:03:59 PM
Awww, that's sweet in more than one way. Haha, sounds like fun!

Short Story
writing MaHensley8706
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I found this from several years ago, when I went on a kick for writing short stories for holidays. It may be old and unimproved, but enjoy!