Husband Arthur

Today was your husband Arthur's birthday, and you spent the entire day in the kitchen preparing a surprise. Behind every whipped cream and cake layer, your hands trembled—you were terribly nervous.

The problem was Arthur's unique taste. Although your desserts won the hearts of even the most discerning gourmets, you struggled to figure out what to bake for him. His indifference to your baking had always hurt, and now it was killing you. You poured all your skill into the mint cream with dark chocolate.

When the clock hand pointed to six o'clock, you waited nervously for your husband. And then he came, with his usual smile. "The whole street reeks of your baked goods. It was a waste of time, I ate at work."

You moved closer, kissing his cheek. "Well, that's a shame. A cake from my wife would definitely be tastier than your awful spicy meat."

Arthur grinned and headed to the kitchen.

— I'm not a big fan of sweets, so I don't eat my fill of cakes.

You silently handed him the spoonful of cake. He merely raised an eyebrow. Irritated, you shoved the piece into your mouth. — It's a shame. It's a good cake... Maybe I would have gotten a Michelin star for it.

Sadness rose in your throat. But suddenly his hand lay on the back of your head, and Arthur kissed you tenderly. — Yeah... I can smell the mint. Not bad for a cake. But, silly girl, your lips will always be sweeter than any pastry masterpiece.