Dreams . . . (Writing Entry)

I walked up the stairs into the kitchen, plugged my CD player into the outlet in the wall, and pressed play.  When the music began, I started singing along as I got out supplies to make the birthday cake.  I was about to turn on the mixer and stop belting when he said from the doorway, “You’re pretty loud.”

I snapped my mouth shut and whirled around, staring into his dark eyes.  I laughed sheepishly.  “Sorry about that…  Did it bother you?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Well, did you like it?”

“I didn’t say that.”

I sighed.  “Then what are you saying?”

“That you were loud.”

I was about to turn away when he opened his mouth again.  I froze, ready o listen to what he would say.  “And . . . that I liked it.”

I stared at him, a smile tugging at the edges of my mouth.  “Thank you,” I said, leaning forward to hug him.