“Han, I need you to understand something.” Jess stood in the middle of the kitchen as she began her declaration.
“Yes, dear?” Han asked as he threw open the windows and moved to turn on the ceiling fan in the dining room, then the vent fan over the stove.
“I was born with a silver spoon,” Jess said. “My father had his own personal chef.” She looked positively, epically thunderous. “But I will not be a useless housewife!”
Han smiled. “Never.” Gently, he kissed her cheek, which mollified her enough for him to take the smoking muffin pan from her hands and throw the six blocks of charcoal in the trash can.0