Lenny Fisher slapped the alarm clock’s metal dome and stumbled out of bed, padding barefoot to the kitchen. There, he was met with a sight that left him stunned. At the breakfast table, one slender leg crossed over the other, sat Angelique. She wore nothing but a flirty little lace apron. The sight was so startling that Lenny squeezed his eyes shut.
“Darling, you’re awake!” Angelique fluttered from her stool like a butterfly and threw her arms around his neck. “I’ve made breakfast!”
“Have you? What is it?” he asked, eyeing the stringy, pale heap on the plate.
“Oh, Lenny-love, it’s steamed broccoli!”
Lenny had never eaten “steamed broccoli” for breakfast. He was more accustomed to porridge or toast.
“Maybe a dab of butter?” he suggested weakly, struggling to chew the bland, tasteless mess.
But when Angelique’s perfect brows knitted together, he hurriedly backtracked—
“Of course, my love! No butter! None at all!”
As he choked down the last bite, he wondered, *Why am I so blessed?* Though the thought had nothing to do with broccoli, and everything to do with the vision perched on his kitchen stool. *This nymph… this goddess… Angelique—mine at last!*
***
Lenny first saw Angelique at the theatre where he’d worked as a lighting technician for thirty years. One evening, adjusting a faulty spotlight, he swept the beam across the stage—and there she was. Delicate, ethereal, otherworldly. She haunted his thoughts ever since.
Not that Lenny was the sort to chase after any passing skirt—odd, perhaps, for a man in a theatre. But he was known for his steady hands and quiet decency. Maybe that was why fate had granted him Angelique.
***
After a hasty shave, Lenny dressed for work.
“Love, could you press my shirt?” he ventured.
But his “nymph-goddess” was absorbed in something far more divine—her mobile screen.
“Sweetheart, why don’t you do it yourself?” she purred, scarcely glancing up.
“Fine, I will!”
Since the iron’s whereabouts were a mystery, he smoothed the shirt with damp hands—the man’s solution. Snatching his toolbox, he pecked Angelique—lounging on the sofa—and rushed off.
Only on the bus did Lenny realise something was amiss. A quick inspection confirmed it: no sandwiches, no sausage rolls tucked in his bag.
“Well, I’ll grab a bite at the canteen,” he resigned.
***
*”Darling, wire me two hundred quid. I’ve a manicure today!”*
The text left Lenny perplexed. He hadn’t known manicures cost so much. Still, though his stomach growled, he wouldn’t disappoint her.
*I’ll borrow from Alfie if need be.* He tapped *Send*. Beauty demands sacrifice, after all.
Half an hour before clocking off, another message arrived:
*”Pick up avocados and oat milk on your way home! XOXO!”*
Lenny knew milk—but the rest? He wandered supermarket aisles, baffled. Finally, he asked a shop assistant.
“How many avocados, sir?” she asked, already darting toward the dairy section.
Lenny faltered. He’d no idea how people bought avocados. Still, not wanting to seem daft, he muttered,
“Two, please.”
At checkout, his heart sank. Alfie it was. Lenny, ever generous, often lent to mates—but he’d never borrowed himself.
*Well, there’s a first time for everything.*
Dragging the exotic haul home, he consoled himself: *For a woman like her, even Alfie’s worth it.*
***
Angelique greeted him in a shimmering silk robe, arms wide. The sight made Lenny dizzy.
“Lenny-love, I missed you!” she trilled as he stuffed the fridge.
“What’s for supper, my darling?” he asked, hiding his growling stomach.
She clapped her hands—and the doorbell rang.
“Dinner’s here!” She beamed. “Be a dear and fetch it?”
Lenny trudged downstairs. *What on earth costs this much yet weighs nothing?*
Back in the flat, he blinked at the box. Neat rows of unfamiliar food, sprinkled with green herbs.
“You don’t know sushi?” Angelique laughed. “It’s Japanese! Tuna, crab, octopus! You eat it with wasabi and soy sauce!”
Lenny didn’t care for it. But Angelique devoured the lot, leaving him to poke hopefully through the fridge—no shepherd’s pie in sight. Defeated, he shuffled to bed.
***
Next morning, no breakfast awaited. Angelique slept on, golden hair fanned across the pillow.
“Darling, leave me three hundred,” she mumbled. “I’ve a waxing today.”
Lenny nearly protested—then hesitated. *What if it’s medical?*
“Of course, love,” he sighed.
In the kitchen, he poured oat milk, scanning for toast. Only stale crusts remained. The avocado he’d bought sat untouched. Poking it, he gave up.
“Off already?” Angelique yawned, glued to her phone.
“Yes. And you? When do you start work?”
She gasped.
“Work? Darling, I’m your *wife* now! When I was single, yes—I had to slog. But *you’re* the provider! Your job’s to bring home the bacon. Mine’s to keep your nest cosy—and inspire you!”
***
Lenny returned home grumpy and exhausted. The kitchen held only a lone, wilted avocado. Angelique, meanwhile, preened before the mirror, face half-painted.
“You’re back!” she chirped. “Quick, change—we’re clubbing! There’s a foam party tonight!”
“Angel, I’m knackered,” Lenny groaned. “I’ve barely eaten in days!”
Her smile vanished.
“You won’t go?” she repeated, voice icy.
“No.”
“So this is marriage? Lock me up, turn me into a drudge?” Tears welled. “Was I meant to wither here?”
Lenny fled to the kitchen—but she pursued.
“How *dare* you? You’ve ruined my life! My youth, wasted! And these *avocados*—I’ll starve!”
Snatching the fruit, she shook it in his face. That was it.
“*My* avocados?” Lenny roared, stomach growling in unison. “*You* asked for them!”
“Here! Choke on them, then!”
The avocado struck his nose—and he woke with a jolt.
***
The rickety coach disgorged Valerie Fisher onto the station platform, arms laden with garden bounty. Before she could step forward, Lenny came sprinting, roses in hand.
“Val, my love!” He crushed her in a hug.
“Len, have you gone mad?” she stammered, accepting the bouquet.
“How I’ve missed you!” He took her bags.
“But why the flowers? It’s not our anniversary.”
“Because you’re the best wife a man could ask for!”
Valerie melted. She didn’t know he’d spent his savings—but no matter.
At home, she arranged the roses in a bucket (no vase being handy) and rolled up her sleeves.
“I’ll fry up some potatoes! Fresh from the garden—and cucumbers too!”
“Brilliant!” Lenny grinned, unpacking the earthy, dew-kissed produce.
*He’s lost the plot,* Valerie mused, watching him kiss a cucumber. But she didn’t mind.
