Burnt Spaghetti Novels & Stories

I typed, I cracked my knuckles afterwards, all these typing isn't for me, my fingers are killing me. "Understood." I started making the spaghetti sauce and asked Mel to watch it so it won't burn while I made her meatballs, after making them into a ball o fried them and put them in a sieve. The spaghetti was done do I asked her to take them out sieve them and serve them, the placed the three meatballs on it, all that was left was the sauce, while it was getting ready I started with my own dinner. The sauce was ready and I poured it over the spaghetti and meatballs, she sat on the chair of the island and started eating her dinner, my dinner was ready and I dug in making sure to blow in it firs

He crouches in front of me, his eyes scanning my face, his proximity suffocating. His hand brushes towards my collarbone, making me draw back. "You’ve lost weight. These bones are too apparent. Haven’t you been consuming nicely?" Why is he pretending to care? His hands circulate down to inspect each inch of me, tracing scars like they’re secrets and techniques he’s rediscovering. "You shouldn’t contact me like that," I mutter, my voice trembling. "I’m no longer your spouse anymore." He ignores me completely. "You said you were late for work. Which corporation is it?"

Belinda savored her husband's homemade spaghetti, devouring it until her red lips were smeared with sauce. Brandon could only shake his head, his wife's cute behavior making him want to stare at her face even longer. Unaware of the spaghetti getting cold, his right hand instinctively wiped the tiny lips in front of him with his right thumb. "Even though you're an adult, you still make a mess when you eat." "Your spaghetti is really delicious." Belinda gave a thumbs up. “Do you know what this spaghetti recipe is like that makes you addicted to eating it?” “You learn from YouTube?”

"No harm done. Nothing burned except fabric." "And dinner," James said miserably. Looking at pot of overcooked pasta. "I ruined dinner." "You didn't ruin dinner," Albert said. "Pasta is still edible. Just—just well cooked. Very well cooked." "It's burned," James said. "It's charcoal," Subject Seven said. Then caught everyone's look. "I mean—it's fine. Perfectly fine. Character. It has character." James stared at the pot. Then started laughing. Real laugh. First genuine laugh I'd heard from him.

"My mom is making my favorite spaghetti with the assistance of my grandparents. Would you like to? Jasmine felt more comfortable when she saw that Sally's family was actually preparing spaghetti at home. "You didn't go to the movies with my mom today, did you?" she said. When Jasmine heard this, she at last felt at ease. "Got it. Enjoy your spaghetti." Just as she was going to end the video conversation, she paused and nervously said, "Bye." "Oh, bye-bye..." was Sally's reply. As Thorne returned to the living room, Lloyd looked up. "All sorted?" Thorne gave a nod. "Yes, everything is fine.

“Yo, Kev. I’m starving. You eat yet?” Kevin looked up from the couch, where he’d been half-watching a basketball game. “Nah. Figured we’d order pizza again. The usual?” “Extra pepperoni. I’m fucking ravenous.” Mike dropped his bag by the door and peeled off his tank top right there in the living room, tossing it toward the laundry pile. His muscles were pumped, veins standing out along his arms and down his lower abs. Kevin’s eyes lingered a second too long before he forced them back to the TV.

I went into the kitchen to wash my hands to get a bottle of water and prepare my combat gear. Spaghetti bolognese, baked lasagna, japanese curry with chicken katsu, choco lava Mille crepes, I've transferred to the plate. All right, I'm going to try to relieve my sadness by eating as much as I can. I drank a green tea latte, got my spirit to eat back. It's going through my throat. Spend spaghetti bolognese that has a savory taste and delicious taste that is appetizing. And within minutes I was spending spaghetti bolognese with nothing left, apparently my stomach was really starving.

But I needed something to take my mind off of the fucking distraction that sat right in my dining room. “What are you making?” Ally asked as she stood and wandered closer, her voice echoing faintly in the open space. Too close. The faint scent of cherry and lavender followed her, subtle but distracting. How many fucking shampoo scents did one girl need? I towered over her easily, her head barely brushing my shoulder, yet the proximity made the room feel tighter—charged. “Spaghetti and chicken,” I replied, my voice lower than intended. I cleared my throat. She peered into the pot. “Looks ready.”

I hadn't even had the chance to recover when Mom grabbed my hair, dragged me, and tossed me back into the dark attic, yelling, "You're far too unruly, Cynthia! It seems like you didn't learn your lesson the last time!" I accidentally banged my head on a container before gradually losing consciousness.

Giovanni was bringing the meatball out of the oven for the second time to start preparing the sauce, when he turned and saw Ava trying to break the Spaghetti into the pot. "No Cara, you don't do spaghetti like that" he said and before she knew it, he was standing behind her, he held her hand as he put the spaghetti end in the boiling pot. "Patience, darling, is the most powerful ingredient in cooking" When the spaghetti curled into the pot, he turned her around to face him. Ava wasn't sure why the kitchen became hot all of a sudden. Was it the heat from the kitchen or was it the heat from both of them, she swallowed as she looked at him.