Morning Toast - 1. Morning Toast

I tipped the contents of the crumb tray into the bin, scraping off the stubborn bits and pieces with a finger. “You know, babe,” I began. “These toasters scare the crap out of me sometimes.”

“What?” Nate cracked the final egg into the bowl and cast his gaze back at me in amusement. He stopped humming the tune to whatever song was on loop in his head. “Where’d that come from?”

“Oh you know, when the bread pops out. It’s so unexpected it gives me a jumpscare.” I slotted the tray back under the toaster.

He tried to suppress a chortle but wasn’t all that successful. “You’re joking right? Wait let me check again. Toast popping up from a toaster gives you a scare?”

“Well no I’m not scared of toast.” I shrugged. “But it’s like, so sudden and loud when it shoots out. And you don’t know when it’s gonna shoot out.”

“It’s just toast, you silly sausage.” His grin grew wider.

“Well next time you try handling all that suspense,” I pouted. “You know, they should have a warning system installed into these things.”

“Like what?”

“Well you know, something that tells you when the toast is about to pop.”

“Like a countdown.”

“Guess so.” I shrugged again.

He smirked and suddenly adopted the sonorous tone of a rocket launch commentator. “Three, two, one, and we liftoff of the Toast One rocket on a course to where no toast has ever gone before.”

“You little—” I pounced forward and jabbed him in the sides.

Nate took a single step back and then steadied himself. “That doesn’t work, remember? I ain’t ticklish like you.” He launched a counterattack of his own, sending me into a desperate panic to defend myself.

“Ah! Stop! Stop! I give up! Abort, launch abort!” I laughed and retreated back several paces, ready in case he remained on the offensive.

He threatened a step forward and returned a giggle as I flinched. Accepting his victory, he turned on the stove and began whisking the yolks in the bowl. I brought out a carton of milk from inside the fridge and started setting the table. Nate is a wonder to be around, and I don’t think I’d rather start my day any other way. He could transform ordinary, everyday events into something fresh, something much more than just the chores. Why would I ever need coffee to escape my morning grogginess when Nate’s energy could kick my mind and body into high gear?

As I fetched two slices of bread from their packet and prepared to slot them into the toaster, he spoke again. “You know babe, I’ve got an idea.”

“Hmm?”

“You said you wanted a countdown? Well I’ve got a plan. I can be that countdown.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“I’ll predict when the toast is just about to pop and warn you. Simple.” He poured the whisked eggs into the saucepan and began stirring.

“Bullshit.”

“Nuh-uh, serious. I think I’ve gotten good enough to do that.”

“No, no.” I chuckled. “That’s bull. That is so bull. Unless you’ve got a stopwatch there’s absolutely no way.”

“Oho you want a bet? If I can predict when these toasts are gonna pop, I win.”

“Fine.” I pulled my sleeves up and got the slices ready. “Bring it. What we betting? What if I win?”

He smirked. “Well, if you win, I’ll do whatever you say today.”

The thought of Nate following my every command flashed across my mind. I raised an eyebrow in curiosity. “Huh. That’s how confident you are? And if I lose?”

“If you lose, you got to follow everything I say today.”

I extended a palm in disbelief. “Isn’t that just every day?”

“Nah there’s a fundamental difference here babe,” he cackled and shook his head. “This time you can’t say no, no matter what.”

“Oh no. You’re thinking of something crazy again aren’t you”

“Maybe. I’ll think of something good in a bit.” He winked.

“Boy, you’re crazy.” A torrent of blood flushed into my cheeks.

“I know.” He smiled.

“But don’t get ahead of yourself alright?” I regained my composure. “I ain’t losing this bet.”

“Sure, sure. Give me three attempts and watch me nail it.”

“Three? You sure you don’t want five? You could need it.”

“Nah, three’s good. That’s just about enough. Thanks for being generous though you loveable cookie.”

“Let’s see if you come to regret that,” I warned, placing the slices of bread inside their slots, hand on the lever. “Ready?”

“I was born ready. Let’s do this.”

I snorted and depressed the lever. Even with three attempts, there was no way he could get it that close to when the toast was done. I’m talking about split-second accuracy here. Content that Nate had surely bitten off more than he can chew, I settled into my seat at the table, watching him work. Every so often, he’d take the saucepan off the heat, then back on, stirring all the while. It brought a distinct pleasure in observing him cook. While a simple creamy scrambled egg may not win any Michelin Stars, he genuinely displayed an interest in making food look appetizing. Another cadence of a melody’s notes escaped his lips as he began humming anew. To him, cooking was never really a chore. He thoroughly enjoyed letting me experience the flavours he could create. And what can I say? Despite a couple of weird creations on a whim—including one time when he decided that barbecue sauce and pancakes might make for a decent combo—I love his dishes almost as much as I love him.

It’s a little suspicious though. He looks positively relaxed despite knowing what could be at stake here.

“You sure that egg won’t distract you?” I prodded.

“Ha. I can make scrambled eggs blindfolded. Besides, I don’t need to see the toaster to know when it’s ready.”

“Really? You can just instinctively know?”

“Well, not really just by instinct, but you’ll see.”

A minute or so passed where I sipped on my milk and nibbled on some butter biscuits he baked a few days ago. A magpie cushioned on some shrubbery warbled a duet with him, the notes cascading in pitch and tempo. I could have continued to talk, but I didn’t want to act like a dick who was attempting to distract him. While Nate appeared rather cool on the surface, he had to be concentrating to a lesser or greater extent on the inside. Since he didn’t find a topic of interest to continue our conversation either, I might as well lay back simply enjoy his quiet company for the time being. It’s a positive thing—I had concluded on multiple occasions—that we didn’t always need to be talking to or around each other. Often we’d have quiet days where we both focused on our own tasks, giving each other space to concentrate. Knowing that he’d be around and I could seek help whenever I needed was a most comforting thought.

Finally, he lifted a finger and pointed towards the toaster. “Alright, get ready, get ready. Just about . . . now!”

I must say the confidence in his voice made me believe the toasts were really about to pop, but they still remained where they were after several seconds had passed.

“Now!” he commanded again.

Still nothing. They remained stubbornly in their sockets. I smirked. “Ready to give up? That’s two attempts.”

“Not yet. I’m gonna hit it this time.” He inhaled sharply. “I’m telling you now!”

And then, the unthinkable. The toasts launched out of their slots with an audible bang not even a second after he had finished speaking. I turned to Nate with my jaw about to hit the floor, too much in disbelief to respond.

“Hell yeah!” He fist pumped in triumph, but as he did, his elbow slammed down onto the saucepan handle and a surge of half-cooked yolks flew over the side. “Oh shit! Bad! Bad!” He jumped back to avoid getting splashed.

“Oh crap, you ok?” I rushed over with a cloth.

“Yeah.” He wiped his hands and steadied the saucepan. “Avoided ninety per cent of it. Hold on, get the mop. Let’s clear this up.”

I cleaned the small puddle on the floor as he wiped the side of the saucepan, where the dripping yolk had begun to sizzle.

“This is what you get for being too cocky,” I beamed as I placed the mop back in its bucket.

“Says you. Who’s really the cocky one here? You said it couldn’t be done,” he deflected.

“It shouldn’t be! You’re insane. How’d you even do it?” I asked in incredulity.

“Well really it’s not that complicated,” he explained. “The toaster makes these clicking sounds from the metal expanding and stuff. Once it stops clicking I’ll know it won’t get hotter, so then the toast has gotta be done.”

“That’s it?”

“More or less. Also, this is my toaster. I’ve used it hundreds of times. I can just feel for it I guess.”

“Are you sure it wasn’t a fluke?” I doubted.

“I can prove it to you every morning. But you gotta keep betting and watch me win.” He tugged on my cheeks playfully. “Speaking of, you’re under my command now.”

Dammit, I was.

“Yes, sir.” I went along with it. “Do whatever you wish.”

“Oh yeah?”

His arm crawled around my waist and pulled me close. I shut my eyes and shivered as his lips brushed against mine. I combed his hair and fumbled at the contours of his features until I found my way down to the nape of his neck. My cheeks grew hot again as he deepened the kiss, ensuring that I savoured every second of the contact. I could feel the pulses of his heart in our embrace, the rise and fall of his chest as our breathing grew ragged. At last, he nuzzled my neck and pulled away, offering me a clear view into the depths of those hazel irises, swirling with love, passion and wonder.

I swear, there wasn’t a second person who could make me both weak and strong at the same time.

“You’re so cute,” he whispered, sending another tingle down the length of my body.

“You’re so amazing,” I returned, giggling as he rewarded me with a quick peck.

The unpleasant scent of something burning interrupted whatever he was going to say next. We turned towards the saucepan simultaneously with a sudden realisation.

“Oh crap!” he exclaimed and quickly brought the pan off the gas, examining the contents. “Oh no no no! It’s completely screwed Jake, completely screwed.”

I doubled over in laughter. The scrambled eggs had gone beyond overcooked to every imaginable level of burnt that lay beyond while we were both distracted. The figure of Nate desperately stirring like a madman to salvage whatever he could did little to help me control myself.

“Stop, it’s not funny!” he commanded in a high pitched tone, despite chuckling himself. But I had already taken off and I wasn’t coming back in a hurry. I pressed my forehead against his shoulder to steady myself as the fit slowly subsided.

“That’s what you get for feeding me that barbecue sauce pancake last time,” I said at last. “You better take care of it.”

“Hey, that wasn’t even that bad! Still, most people would expect burnt toast with eggs. Burnt eggs with toast on the other hand . . .” he pondered, setting me off again.

“Boy, you’re crazy.”

“I know.” He smiled.

“And I love it.” I completed. “Let’s eat before the toast gets cold. It’d suck to have your godly prediction go to waste.”

“You bet. But before that, are you still scared of toasts popping out?”

“With what you can do, not so much.” I gave him another quick peck and retrieved a slice from the toaster, holding it up against his mouth. “Bon appétit.”