The Toast Surprise Novels & Stories

' He screamed from the living room, gosh I felt like an old house wife. I grabbed some bread that I found on the counter and shoved it in a shiny, silver toaster. The smell of the cooking toast made my stomach rumble and I relised.. I was starving. I shoved in 2 extra peices for me and waited for it to go a brownish colour. As I butterd them and spread the Vegimite on the toast James got up to see how I was doing. 'What's this?' He said and stared down at his plate. 'Toast..' I replied and looked up concerned, why didn't he just give me a break?

he shouted. “No thanks.” “Cereal, banana, apple, ooh, strawberry Pop-Tarts.” “No thank you,” I repeated. “I make a mean toast with butter.” “Is it toast if it doesn’t have butter?” I asked. “Sure. It’s called dry toast then.” “I’m good.”

Mason asked standing up walked towards my side. “No–no there's nothing wrong, I just– just can't get the texture of the toast out of my head, everything is balanced. Oh Lord, I'm sorry to get you worried again.” They both looked at each other and burst into laughter, I didn't know when I joined them. “Lord! Elena you're hilarious, how can you be crying cus of toast? That's hilarious!” Vy said still laughing but calmly this time. Mason walked back to his seat, he smiled at me. “The chef who made that toast is from Paris, so you should know why it tastes that way.”

It felt like… something safe. “I still don’t understand how you can eat toast without butter,” I said suddenly, turning my head to look at him. He raised one eyebrow slowly and turned his face toward me. “It’s not that strange.” “It is strange,” I said with a small laugh. “Toast without butter is just… sad bread.” Salvatore gave a short laugh. It was rare to hear him laugh like that,soft, relaxed. “Sad bread? You’re dramatic.” I smiled and shrugged. “Okay, but explain. Why do you hate butter?”

I said, still feeling a bit lightheaded. "You don't," Damien teased, sipping his wine. "I bought it. It just happens to belong to you. Think of it as a perk of being Mrs. Blackwood." "Most people get a toaster, Damien." "We aren't most people." The waiter arrived with appetizers—truffle-dusted arancini that looked perfect. As I reached for my fork, my phone vibrated in my lap. I pulled it out, expecting a message from Rachel or Chelsea, but the screen showed an unknown number.

That made my chest warm instantly. Despite the chaos in front of me. Despite the burnt smell. Despite the very questionable toast. “You… made breakfast?” I asked softly. “Yes.” He gestured toward the plate. I walked closer. Very carefully. Like I was approaching a dangerous experiment. The eggs looked… confused. The toast looked… tragic. And the tea— The tea looked safe. Hopefully. I picked up the toast gently and examined it. It was darker on one side. Almost black. I looked up at him slowly.

At an alumni reunion, my husband's business rival Vanessa Graves stands up in front of everyone and raises three toasts to him. "The first is for the time you risked your life to save me from a group of thugs and ended up with broken bones and spent six months in the hospital. "The second is for the five years we were together, and every bit of love and devotion you gave me. "The third is for putting everything behind you and coming here tonight to see me." She finishes her drink and looks at my husband, Russell Grayson, with teary eyes filled with affection. The whole table erupts in whispers, every pair of eyes locked on her and Russell. "No wonder the campus queen has been single all

Alice took one out and handed it to Scarlett. Scarlett bit into the toast greedily, and peanut butter got all over her mouth. It was a messy scene. “My God, why is peanut butter and jelly so damn good!”

Suzi watched Max scroll through a tablet with curiosity. “What do you feel like eating?” he asked, tapping the screen. “They’ve got pancakes, waffles, eggs, fruit, some kind of hipster avocado situation…” “Toast,” she said quietly. “With jam.” Max looked up, grinning. “Adventurous.” She shrugged one shoulder, clutching the sheet tighter. “And maybe some fruit. Strawberries, if they have them.” He nodded and added it to the order without comment.

Entering the kitchen, he swoops me into his arms, spinning us around and around. “Put me down,” I plead. “I'm carsick from my traveling today. I need a meal.” We gather our plates full of food and assemble at the small table in the nook. Still smiling, Jackson pours wine in three glasses. Before we dig in, I raise my glass. “A toast,” I prompt. “To great friends, great surprises,” I pin Jackson with a stare, then swing my eyes to Kennedy, “and to becoming your surrogate.” Kennedy bursts into sobs as Jackson places his arm around her and squeezes eyes on me. “The real reason for your surprise?” He questions. I nod as he continues, “You just couldn’t tell us over the phone as planned later ton