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In a Moment

by Madelyne Velez about a year ago in Relationships
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She still loved to dance...

In a Moment
Photo by Food Photographer | Jennifer Pallian on Unsplash

The click of a gas burner sounds through the open kitchen and the fire of azure and red-yellow hues springs to life adding warmth around the space. The clank of pots and pants being sifted through in a lower cupboard cut through the otherwise silent room. Delicate huffs of approval vocalize once the desired pot is found and set upon the heated stove with a muffled thud. Selene walks a few feet to the cupboard next to the fridge and pulls out the last remnants of semi-sweet chocolate morsels to heat and melt down. It’s supposed to give her dessert that extra chocolatey kick that would have even the most muted palates humming in appreciation. She pauses in appreciation of the enticing, bright packaging--it’s supposed to be the best in the market.

“We’ll have to see if this packaging is telling the truth, hmm?” Selene turns on her heels, facing Sarra who sits patiently at the island counter among a few stools--phone in hand, thumbing through her social media accounts.

“I just want to decorate. You know how much I love to do that.” Sarra looks up briefly, catching a mischievous smile from Selene.

“You’ll get your chance. Be patient. This icing has to be perfect, or the cake will be ruined.” Selene wags a finger and walks to the stove to dump the contents of the packaging in the pot to heat it up.

Sarra connects her phone to the Bluetooth speaker on the kitchen island, fetching her Spotify playlist filled with various Chillhop selections and hits play. Soulful saxophones and the soft timbre of a snare drum echo off the walls. It’s just the kind of ambiance Selene needs to focus her mind on perfecting the craft of baking cakes for their community. Melodic keys from a piano tickle her ears and a content smile breaks through her serious facade. Selene begins to sway her hips, countering the beat as she stirs melting chocolate in the pot. Sarra watches from her stool, camera poised just slightly so that Selene wouldn’t notice whenever she spins around. It’s moments like this that Sarra wishes she could hold onto forever. Seeing Selene immerse herself in her own element--baking and music. They go hand in hand, one being a hobby and the other being the life force of her soul. Selene is this goddess on nimble feet that can never be ignored once she finds her rhythm.

As the beat comes to a crawl and a guitar is introduced to the comforting mix of sounds, Sarra stands from her stool--discarding her cellphone in favor of the invisible strings that tug her to dance as well. Selene takes the melted chocolate off the burner as she nods her head to another beat, mixing it in a larger bowl with the rest of the icing. She sprinkles a pinch of cinnamon and gingerbread into the bowl, stirring it all together. The aromatic scent wafts from the bowl and draws at an appreciative hum from behind Selene’s back. Sarra’s chin lands on her shoulder. They both peer down at the silky mix and smile, anticipation building deep within their gut.

“It smells heavenly. I think you were right to add that bit of cinnamon.” Sarra murmurs against the shell of Selene’s left ear. “Dance with me?”

Sarra knows that Selene can’t resist. The urge to dance is ingrained deep within her bones. Selene sets the mixing bowl to the side, right next to the marble cake, and turns on Sarra. A perfectly trimmed brow raises and the spark that ignites when Sarra speaks her love language is present. Sarra holds out a hand for Selene to take and they spin away from the kitchen counters. It’s easy to forget the chaos of the world when they have each other. Lazily gliding to the beat, Sarra’s heart races as pure joy manifests within Selene’s bright smile. Their foreheads touch as Selene closes her eyes. No amount of negativity can enter this sacred space or penetrate the barrier created by the woman who loved to dance and the woman fell in love with her dance.

“So--can I have a taste of that icing?” Sarra shrugs her shoulders when Selene opens her eyes, glaring in protest to the broken silence within this calming space.

“Seriously?” They both chuckle and part--Selene handing Sarra a knife.

“If you’re going to taste the icing for quality control, you better be willing to ice the cake then.” Selene leans against the counter with one hand on her hip.

“Yes ma’am…”

Relationships

About the author

Madelyne Velez

20-something fictional writer currently in college and looking to get my foot in the door of the writing community.

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