Hank and Grace - For the BFF prompt 'I will always love you'

Grace felt a flush of warmth, both on her face and in her heart upon opening the oven door. It wasn't any old oven. This had belonged to another woman, many years before, a keen cook. It was big enough to roast a whole pig in one go, though Grace mostly used it for the pizzas Hank loved so much. It turned them just the right shade of golden-brown, crisped them perfectly. Admittedly, the oven burned the surrounding woodland like there was no tomorrow, but it was worth it. Especially today...

Hauling the basket of wood from the back doorstep – where Hank had left it before going hunting – Grace felt her back popping. Was she really getting so old? Hadn't it been only yesterday that she and Hank had spent nights in the woods, sleeping on the ground with only moonlight for a blanket? Throwing chopped logs into the depths of the fire beneath the oven, Grace recalled their fear. Back then they had known nothing of strength, of how to deal with the threats from woodland denizens. They'd been lost for so long, clinging to each other whilst wolf, fox, bear and worse had prowled ever closer to their rudimentary shelter.

She straightened, having poked and prodded the fire to suitably volcanic heat and closed the door, rubbing her back as she surveyed the laden table. Goodies covered it, cakes, jellies, candies and pies, creams, custards and delicacies of every description wafted saccharine scents into the slothful air, hanging near the ceiling in a body-plumping cloud of anticipation. Grace snatched up a cloth, headed to the window and wiped the sill clean. She hated when the icing spilled over and left runs in her pristine surfaces.

She glanced out of the window with its four square panes, overlooking a garden filled with sweet-scented pretties which lined a candy-striped path, hoping to catch first sight of Hank with his catch. She sighed, glancing over the room once more, her eagerness making her edgy, impatient. She wandered the room, smiling as she ran her hand over a piece of Hank's crafting. The chair stood before the oven and she often sat in it whilst stirring a pot or watching a roast, her hands loving the smooth feel of the bone armrests. Hank had made the chair from bones, one from each of his kills for the last ten years. Grace thought it made a striking centrepiece to her otherwise cute kitchen.

Whistling drifted through the still summer air, a familiar tune and her heart leapt hard in her breast. Hank! She flew to the door, wrenching it open, smelling ginger, brought out by the sun's warmth. Hank hopped the fence, a large sack thudding heavily against his broad back. How she loved him, would always love him. His strength, the way he protected her as she had once protected him, how his love for her was simple, shown in his constant providing, filling her oven whenever she asked, and even when she didn't. They knew each other so well.

He grinned, flop of hair falling into his blue eyes as he dumped the still wriggling sack at her feet.

“Oven ready?”

He kissed her, long, deep, sweaty, the kiss of a working man home from toil and she returned it, scented with cinnamon and syrup from her baking.

“It's ready. Come on in.”

The sack was dragged across the toffee shiny floor, Grace clasping her hands in eager knots, waiting for Hank to release the rope tie.

“Where did you catch this one?” she asked.

“The New Age shop on the high street. Reckons she's a white witch.”

Hank dumped a plump young woman onto the floor, hog-tied and staring around with wild eyes. She squirmed frantically, but Hank put an end to that, smacking her head with a handy rolling pin. Grace picked up the woman's limp hand, felt the little finger and nodded.

“Plenty of fat on this one. No need to wait.”

She wrenched open the oven door and Hank tossed the unconscious self-proclaimed witch inside. The door clanged shut and Grace sank into the bone chair, content to watch the roasting whilst Hank took a bath.

“I wanna be clean for the feast” he grinned, planting a lascivious kiss on Grace's bosom.

“Maybe you'll get some sugar tonight” Grace winked and went back to watching as the gingerbread house filled with the aroma of roasting meat.