Novel & Cerita Burnt Toast Book

He hummed along with the beat, he smiles sheepishly when he sees me watching him. "Damn, it's been so long I played one," he says Chuckling. "Still good' I say truly. " You feeling okay?" He asks coming towards me. "Can I have breakfast?" "Here, I make some toast for you " I took the plates from his hand narrowing my eyes at the burnt toast. How can a toast be this ugly!? "Liam, this toast looks like your bruise face " He chuckles looking at his burnt toast, while I didn't find it funny it seems it is to him.

"Welcome—" The girl's composed smile disappeared the instant our eyes met. Panic flashed across her face. Lowering her gaze, she stammered awkwardly, "W-What would you like to order...?" The moment I looked at her, I knew she was the one. A faint smile curved my lips as I sized her up. "Two egg tarts." She looked innocent and delicate, small enough to seem fragile. I suddenly remembered how Lucas used to tell me that being short was cute.

Smart, capable, unbreakable. By the final hand, the pretzel pot was mine, and Treyvan conceded with a mock salute. "Alright, alright. Breakfast is on me. Eggs benedict? Or should I go wild with crepes?" "Surprise me," I said, leaning back with a satisfied stretch. "But no burnt toast or eggs this time. Remember that one morning?" "Hey, that was artistic char!" he defended, but his eyes crinkled with amusement. The easy rhythm between us wrapped around me like a warm blanket, chasing away the lingering unease from dinner. Treyvan was my constant, the one who would always have my back.

I scrambled them frantically but they turned into a rubbery, half-burnt mess. The bacon wasn't doing much better. I had thrown it into another pan, not realizing how quickly it would cook. It went from undercooked to charred in what felt like seconds. And the toast! I'd jammed the slices of bread into the toaster and turned it on high, thinking it'd be faster. And I'd totally forgotten about it as I battled with the eggs and bacon.

I hiss. The toast’s burning. I scramble, fumbling for the cancel button but it’s too late. Smoke’s already curling up. I reach for it, ready to pull the damn thing out before the fire alarm starts beeping— “Hey. Move.” Rico’s voice. I blink. He’s already beside me, unplugging the toaster and yanking the toast out with a fork. He fans the smoke with a magazine and then drops the ruined bread into the trash. I’m still standing there. Hand halfway in the air.

“Then, we’ll have breakfast.” ____ A. Gupta The Book: MY BOSS IS MY TORMENTOR is now Completed. Do read it and leave a comment. Your support means a lot. Thankyou:)

I was full-blown laughing now, trying my best to focus on the road. "It was just once for God sake!" She had turn crimson, but her eyes crinkled in unshed tears and laughter. "And you know it was because of the expired baked beans!" "Whatever you say birdie! It was the most toxic one-time fart in history. The teacher had to make us leave the room, so we don't die of poisonous gas!" "Oh you liar! You're mixing up the days now" she countered. "We had to leave the room when Theodore let out a poisonous bug in chem lab!"

Suddenly, the toast popped up with a ping, and Damon watched as Max and Sam blinked in surprise. Damon switched on the toaster again and minutes later the toast jumped up with another ping. Max and Sam stared in awe at the toaster as Damon switched on the toaster again and again. By the time Alessia got home that evening, two whole loaves of bread had been burnt into blackened pieces of toast and Damon was standing half asleep with a giggling Max and Sam on their hip as the toaster pinged.

Mosi I shook my head, trying to get the black little spots to stop dancing in front of my eyes, so I could get my bearings to gather myself and get off this floor, from under all these books and pieces of wood planks that used to be Kalama’s bookcase. I took some books off of my legs and dusted off dust and rubble from all over me, while looking for a place to put hands to push myself up. Everywhere around me was covered with debris.

He preferred the carefree and romantic Sophia. Taking a deep breath, I shouted into the phone, "Am I supposed to serve you after we're divorced? Dream on!" "What's so special about soup? Why not have Sophia make you some pasta with just some salt?! Why don't you eat her pasta? Is it because it's not good? And what does it matter to me that your stomach hurts? Did I force the drinks down your throat? "You only know how to drink—why don't you just drink yourself to death?"