I absolutely love it when Brian cooks breakfast.
He’s got that magic touch when it comes to the skillet and the stovetop. (Basically, what I have with my slow cooker meals, he has with his breakfasts, and I’m all about it.) We love having breakfast together whenever we can, but with our conflicting work schedules, it only happens maybe once a month, twice if we luck out and have corresponding days off. It’s an event of sorts, and it’s one of the things we do together that I look forward to the most.
In addition to loving it when he cooks, I also love simply watching him cook. Because we don’t have very much at-home meal time together and we both have stressful jobs, we like to do little things for each other whenever we can to make any anxiety disappear once we walk in the front door — even things as little as setting up the coffeemaker to have a pot ready when the other person wakes up. On this particular Sunday, I was coming off of an overtime-heavy week, and my brain had all but turned to mush. Brian concocted some seriously baller egg and cheese sandwiches, and insisted that I relax and let him take care of everything, from the coffee to the meal to the dishes. Naturally, I had to get off the couch and snap a few shots of him.
I’ve always thought of spending mealtimes together to be utterly romantic, and nobody ever said you can’t be in your pajamas with bedhead and morning breath to achieve the same level of romance as a candle-lit dinner. In fact, our Valentine’s Day gifts to each other this year consisted of breakfast in bed twice: I got home from work at 8 a.m. and brought him a bunch of Dunkin Donuts, and when I woke up for work at 9 p.m. he had cooked eggs, homefries and sausage. He even stuck some gorgeous flowers in a little vase and put it on the tray. In my book, it doesn’t get much more romantic than that.