Oh! For the "I love you" prompt. #9 with JBM would be amazing
9. ‘I love you’ said when baking chocolate chip cookies
Barely got this in before the end of Bossuet week and so it’s a bit shorter than usual, but hopefully you still enjoy, Nonny!
“I will have you know,” Bossuet said, waving the wooden spoon a bit like it was a conductor’s baton, “people think that I’m clumsy or uncoordinated or whatever, but I’m not.”
“I know,” Joly assured him before popping a chocolate chip into his mouth.
“But that’s not true,” Bossuet continued. “I mean, yeah, ok, sometimes accidents tend to befall me but not because of anything that I did, you know?”
Musichetta nodded, reaching out to wipe a smear of flour off of Bossuet’s cheek. “We know,” she said encouragingly.
Bossuet nodded officiously. “The truth, of course, is that I’m just exceedingly unlucky, and by virtue of that, tend to be in the wrong place at the wrong time, or have things happen in my vicinity that are not remotely my fault but can be blamed on my bad luck.”
“Or your bad timing,” Joly said, nodding.
“And on some occasions, drunkenness and stupidity get involved,” Musichetta said.
Bossuet considered that for a moment. “Fair,” he allowed.
“Anyway,” Joly said, reaching to dip a finger back into the mixing bowl full of cookie dough, “were you going somewhere with this or just stating it for the record?”
“I just want it noted that the cookies — or lack thereof — are not my fault,” Bossuet said, licking the spoon. “After all, I barely even touched the oven and it just…broke.”
Musichetta shrugged. “Think about it this way, though,” she said, gesturing around the kitchen where the three of them sat on the floor, eating the cookie dough that Bossuet had intended to bake, “if the oven hadn’t have broken, would we be sitting here right now sharing an excellent Saturday afternoon without a care in the world?”
“Save for a minor fear of salmonella that we are suppressing,” Joly added under his breath.
Bossuet cocked his head slightly. “I suppose not,” he said in answer to Musichetta’s question. “What are you getting at?”
Musichetta leaned in. “That maybe,” she said, her voice low, “the secret is that we really lucked out this time.”
Bossuet gasped dramatically. “Perish the thought!” he said, but a slow grin was working its way across his flour-streaked face. “Are you calling me lucky?”
“I mean, I wouldn’t go that far…”
Joly and Musichetta both laughed and Bossuet shook his head before tilting his head back to rest it against the oven door. “Well, lucky or not, what I do know is this: I love you both.”
Joly reached out to grab one of his hands, while Musichetta took the other. “And we’re lucky to have you,” Joly told him.
“Goddamn right you are,” Bossuet said cheerfully, and all three laughed.


















