The smell of melted beeswax and cinnamon hung heavy in the room as Lukas opened the door to the living room. He had chosen the scent deliberately—it reminded him of the Christmas market back then, on their first evening together. Now he stood there, in jeans and a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, surveying the arrangement: two tall, slender candles on the dining table, their flames flickering restlessly as the draft from the door brushed them. The light reflected in the glasses and on the porcelain he had taken out of the cupboard—the good china, usually only used for holidays.
Lena had spent the whole afternoon in the kitchen, but now she was upstairs to change. Lukas heard her steps on the stairs, the soft creak of a floorboard, and suddenly his throat felt tight. Twenty-three years they had been married, but in this moment he felt like a teenager waiting for a first date. He ran his hand over the tablecloth, a heavy linen runner in cream white, and checked the cutlery once more. Everything was in its place.
The Arrival
Lena came in, and Lukas turned around. She wore a dress he had never seen before: dark red, almost wine-red, with a narrow neckline and a skirt that reached just above the knees. The fabric clung to her hips as she moved. Her hair, which she usually pinned up in a loose bun, fell in soft waves over her shoulders. She had taken her time with makeup; her eyes were accentuated, her lips slightly glossy.
“Wow,” Lukas said quietly. That was all he could manage.
Lena smiled, a smile that reached her eyes. “You put in effort.” She stepped closer and let her hand glide over the back of a chair. “Did you buy the candles specially? They smell like…” She sniffed briefly. “Like cinnamon. And honey.”
“Beeswax,” he corrected, placing his hand on hers. “I wanted it to smell special. And look special.”
Her fingers intertwined with his. “It’s beautiful. Truly beautiful.”
He pulled the chair back for her, and she sat down, smoothing her skirt. Lukas poured her a glass of wine, a full-bodied red he had opened earlier to let it breathe. Then he took his seat across from her. The candle between them cast flickering shadows on their faces, highlighting her cheekbones and making her eyes sparkle in the darkness.
The Conversation by Candlelight
“So you cooked,” she said, reaching for her fork. “I’m curious what.”
“Beef fillet with red wine sauce, potato gratin, and roasted asparagus. Your favorite.”
Lena tilted her head. “You remember.”
“I remember a lot.” Lukas took a sip of wine, letting it linger on his tongue. “For example, how the first time I cooked for you, you said the sauce was too salty. And you were right.”
She laughed softly. “It was. But you never got it wrong again.”
The conversation flowed easily as they ate. They talked about the children, both moved out, about Lena’s new job at the practice, about Lukas’s latest project at the office. They were familiar topics, offering no surprises, but the way they looked at each other, the pauses between sentences, the light touches of their hands when passing a dish—all of it was different. The candles seemed to create their own atmosphere, a space where the years of routine melted away.
Lena laid her knife and fork on the plate. “That was delicious. Really.” She leaned back. “But you didn’t just cook, did you? You prepared something. I know that look.”
Lukas smiled mysteriously. “Maybe. But first, dessert.”
He stood up, went into the kitchen, and returned with a platter holding small bowls of a creamy mixture, decorated with a slice of star fruit and a mint leaf. “Panna cotta with passion fruit,” he said. “Your second weakness.”
“My first?” Her voice was suddenly deeper, an undertone that shot through Lukas.
He set the platter down in front of her, leaned in, and brushed a kiss on her cheek, close to the corner of her mouth. “You know that.”
She held his gaze while taking a spoonful of the cream and slowly sliding it into her mouth. Lukas watched her lips close, watched her tongue briefly glide over the spoon. A shiver, which she couldn’t hide, ran over her arms.
The Surprise
After dessert, Lukas cleared the plates. “I have another surprise. But you have to close your eyes.”
Lena looked at him suspiciously, but did as she was told. She heard his steps, the opening of a drawer, then steps returning. His hands settled on her shoulders, warm and firm.
“Not yet,” he said. Something cool and silky wrapped around her neck. She flinched slightly as he fastened the clasp. “And now.”
She opened her eyes and raised a hand to her neck. Her fingers traced a chain of fine silver, with a small pendant hanging from it. She pulled it forward: a tiny, oval piece of amber, encasing a delicate ivy tendril.
“Lukas…” she whispered. “That’s…”
“I had it made. By a goldsmith. The amber is real, and the ivy inside—does it remind you of something?”
She turned the pendant in the candlelight, and the flame broke apart in the golden tones. “Our tree,” she said softly. “The ivy vine that grew around the apple tree in the garden. Under which we first kissed.”
Lukas nodded. “I thought it was time for something that lasts. Forever.”
Lena stood up, her eyes glistening with tears. She stepped in front of him, wrapped her arms around his neck, and kissed him. It wasn’t a gentle kiss, a polite thank-you—it was a kiss full of desire that had built up over all those years. Her tongue found his, demanding, and her hands grabbed his hair, pulling him closer. Lukas felt her body against his, the warmth of her dress, the pressure of her breasts against his chest.
“Is that the surprise?” she asked breathlessly, pulling away.
“No,” he said, his voice hoarse. “That’s still to come.”
The Ember Ignites
He took her hand and led her into the bedroom. On the bed lay rose petals, scattered over the white bedspread. The bedside lamp was dimmed, casting a warm, orange light. Lena laughed softly, a laugh that caught in her throat.
“You really thought of everything.”
“Not everything,” said Lukas, pulling her gently toward him. “I didn’t know if you’d like the amber.”
Voices from the community
No voices yet — be the first to say what turned you on.
