Not now, not yet. Just wait a little longer. It shouldn’t take much longer.
But then the smell arose, that smell, a bit of acrid tingle mixed with the familiar scent, that ever so tantalizing aroma. It wafted in, and he couldn’t wait another moment.
Putting down his book, he strode through the dining room and into the stuffy kitchen. The oven door was open, and she was just sliding in another pan. Her back was to him; this was his chance! He reached out for the still pliable, still warm confection. As he bit into it, the sweet crumbliness mixed with the smooth, dark puddles of chocolate, and he tasted the subtle flavor of the walnut as it met his tooth. He could have died right then and been happy.
He turned, almost flinching, like a little boy snitching cookies from his mother’s kitchen. Only he wasn’t a boy anymore, and it was his own kitchen he stood in.
His wife shook her head. “If you’re that desperate, there are some over here that browned a bit too much and I won’t be taking to the bake sale. Help yourself to those.”
He finished the cookie he’d stolen, then sauntered over to the racks she’d indicated. Picking up a cooled, crisper cookie, he planted a chocolaty kiss on her neck. Such delicious torture, such a test of his will, and one he failed every time. Chocolate chip cookies, his one true weakness.