Where, oh where had her kids gotten that from?
It was a silly question, really, as Andrea stood in the doorway of her own home, listening to the ABBA sound blasting from the radio in the kitchen. The radio had been a gift two years ago from her oldest, meaning that her husband had paid for whatever it was that Sarah had picked out at the store. The girl was only seven three weeks ago, and by no means able to finance a gift on her on. But the thought was appreciated, and she let her daughter know that. Until moments like this.
Her in-laws were ABBA fans, apparently not in receipt of the memo notifying the rest of the world of the end of the era. Donald and Regina Williams were century members of the ABBA fan club, an organization that Andrea had been totally unaware of until going to her at-the-time boyfriends' house for the first time during the summer of their junior year in college.
And so her youngest two, five year old Andrew and four year old Michelle had somehow acquired the taste from their grandparents, making the music a constant play companion to the munchkins, and today was no different. Smiling she walked into the kitchen, kissing the back of her husbands neck. "Hey baby."
Donald Junior, or simply DJ to his friends, did not disappoint. Spinning he took his wife into his arms, leaning down to kiss her. But to do so she had to bite the peanut butter cookie hanging out of his mouth first, which she gladly did. DJ was a fire hazard if he tried to cook dinner and even macaroni & cheese was sure to set of a fire detector. But give the man an oven, a bowl, and two eggs and he would give you a cake fit for a king. Or a queen, as he liked to tell her with that glint in his eyes.
His touch was electric, it always was to her. DJ had first laid eyes on her shortly before spring break of their sophomore year, spotting her coming out of class as he was going in. Through three degrees of separation he had gotten a mutual friend in her sorority to introduce them, showing up on their first date with a plate of freshly baked chocolate chip cookies. He had since learned that peanut butter was her favorite, but that night her sorority sisters had made her swear to marry him, or at least date for the foreseeable future to ensure a lasting supply of fat-pills.
But his baking ability was only a small detail of her attraction to him. He was extremely easy on the eye, with his deep black hair that seemed to just shine naturally, and matched his smoldering dark eyes perfectly. His skin had that deep tan that always, even in the dead of winter in Colorado, looked like he had just gotten of the plane from Italy or Greece. A swimmer all through high school and college, he had broad shoulders to scoop her up with, strong arms to envelop her in, and an incredibly hot ass for her to droll over whenever he was walking away from her. Yes, he was the perfect man for her, and now her husband of eight years.
"I see you played hooky from work again?" Taking the rest of the cookie out of his mouth, she slowly chewed it, savoring the taste. The recipe was top secret, but over the years of them being together he had perfected it, and there was nothing better out there, nowhere.
"I can do that, you know. I'm the boss." He grinned, kissing her on the forehead. "And besides, the kids were bored over at STALAG 14." This was his name for the school that took what seemed like an arm and a leg of their annual income in return for allowing their three holy terrors to roam its hallways during the five days of the work week. And of course he could leave work whenever he wanted to; he owned the small IT business. And since most of his work was contract for the government, this time of year was slow with work, but fat with money as the new budget year really got rolling and Congress doles out pork.
"I wish you would not call it that." She really did not care, not at this age. Once the little ones figured out what a STALAG was, that might be different. And besides, his skipping work held promises. "So, I guess you didn't start dinner, huh?" She grinned at him, the look on his face not amused. But it did not stop him from doing his best imitation of the dancing queen, much to the delight of Andrew and Michelle, who were dancing in their chairs, faces and hands covered in food coloring and icing, the cookies they were supposed to be decorating amazingly bare. No surprise there.
Leaning against the counter, she could not help but move with the beat coming out of the radio as her husband sang along with the music, seemingly having a seizure all over the kitchen. It was a well known fact amongst their friends and family that DJ had somehow not gotten the shame gene and that embarrassment was a foreign concept to him. So in the confines of their kitchen, he had absolutely no inhibition. Drinking not required for this one, she thought again, smiling to herself as she walked down the hallway to the master suite of the home.
Pushing open the door to her bedroom, her breath caught in her throat. DJ must have taken of from work a lot earlier then she thought.
Ever since Sarah had gotten old enough to understand the principal of tearing wrapping paper from gifts it had been a tradition that mommy and daddy have their own tree. Not massive monument to consumerism like the one in the living room with all its ten feet of tree glory, but a small one, about three or four feet tall. It was DJ's job to acquire this tree at an undisclosed time, sneak it into the house, and decorate it. And he did not disappoint.
Closing the door, she kicked off her shoes and walked over to short fern. He had placed it on a stand to make room for the presents underneath, but it was still not as tall as the closet it sat next to, which had somehow become her measuring stick. There were several presents already wrapped under the tree, and she had to fight the temptation to pick one up and shake it. She was like a kid that way.
"You like it?" DJ had come up silently behind his wife, wrapping his arms around her and kissing her neck. He smelled of flour and peanut butter, smelled of tree sap and evergreen, smelled of sweat and man. God, she loved this man.
"I love it baby. Thank you so much."
"Anything for my queen." Again he kissed the base of her neck, burying his nose in her hair. Andrea was his queen, and it was something he never forgot. He had tripped over his own feet the day he had first seen her. It had not taken long to get her name and number, and not much longer to get an introduction through a mutual friend. His lust bored on obsession by that point, and that first date did nothing to alleviate that tension. Her clear laughter, bright green cat like eyes, and long eyelashes never let him go. Her skin, a deep bronze flavor in the summer, with a lighter shade, like white gold, in the winter, it gave evidence to her south Florida background. Her blond hair was like spun gold, and when he read his kids the story of Rapunzel, he always talked of mommy's hair.
