It was early on a lazy Saturday afternoon in mid-spring when Hope Mikaelson walked into the Salvatore School kitchen carrying a small box. She knew she would have the kitchen all to herself at this time of day, as half of the students would still be asleep after last night’s party at the old mill, and the other half would either be studying in their rooms or the library or outside enjoying the lovely weather. Hope sat the box on the counter and began assembling the machine inside.
Next, the fearsome tribrid took a mixing bowl and added heavy whipping cream, half-and-half, sugar, and a bit of vanilla, and stirred the mixture together. She grabbed the final piece of the machine from the freezer, finished the assembly, and half-poured, half-scraped the mixture into the machine before turning it on. As the machine whirred to life, Hope smiled. She realized she had about 40 minutes before the machine would finish, so maybe after she cleaned up, she should go outside and enjoy the nice weather for a bit, too. After all, she knew from experience that people rarely used the kitchen at this time, so there was no need to stand guard. “Just in case,” she thought, uttering a quick cloaking spell, and then it was out to smell the flowers.
Hope enjoyed her walk in the gardens of the Salvatore School. Spring was in full splendor, and the blooms on the flowers and the trees made the redhead think of happy times when she was young. The fragrances of the lilies of the valley enchanted her as they wafted past her face on the gentle breeze, reminding her of someone. She made a mental note to come back to this spot next Saturday with her paints to capture this spring on canvas. Hope was so engrossed by the beauty of nature that it was time to return to the kitchen before she knew it; she couldn’t believe that 40 minutes had already passed!
When Hope entered the kitchen for the second time this Saturday afternoon, the first thing she noticed was that the oven was on and someone had been baking something. Her machine was undisturbed, however, under the protection of her cloaking spell, which she dropped just in time to see the machine turn itself off. “Perfect!” she thought. She began disassembling the machine to get to its output, and she was so engrossed in the process that she didn’t notice someone else enter the room. Only once she had finished and turned around did she discover chocolate-brown eyes trained intently on her from over by the oven. “Josie,” she sputtered with a smile, “what are you doing here?” Hope still couldn’t quite tell what Josie—she must have been the one baking—had over at the oven.
“I baked you brownies,” the brunette witch replied, her eyes twinkling as she brought the pan in front of her. “What are you doing here, Hopey?” Josie inquired sweetly in return.
“I made you ice cream,” Hope said softly, a smile stretching across her face before breaking into a chuckle as she also showed the container she had retrieved from her machine. Josie giggled, and Hope felt her legs start to melt, along with the entirety of her body. There was nothing better in this world, she thought, than Josie giggling, and if she were to die at this very instant, she would die happy. “Josie Saltzman, you complete me.”
While Hope had been lost in her thoughts, Josie had made her way to the tribrid, carrying the pan of brownies, which she sat on the counter before encircling the older girl’s waist with her arms and pulling the two of them together. Gazing down at the redhead, Josie hummed, “Hope Mikaelson, you complete me.”
Hope thought it was a good thing that she was standing next to the counter and Josie had her arms around her, because she was in danger of succumbing to a swoon. How had she, of all people, a Mikaelson even, gotten so lucky to have a smart, strong, talented, kind, oh, and beautiful—did she mention beautiful?—girl named Josie Saltzman love her. She loved the brunette witch with all of her heart, and she wanted to spend the rest of her life demonstrating it. For now, though, she settled for reaching up and placing a soft kiss on the brunette’s lips before pulling away—after all, it would be a shame to let fresh ice cream and warm brownies go to waste. That pout, though, that appeared on Josie’s face when Hope broke the kiss, that pout might be enough to kill her on the spot.
“Ice cream and brownies, then more kisses,” Hope purred as she reached for plates and silverware.
“Oh!” Josie replied, her face lighting up again and banishing the pout. “Right, ice cream and brownies.”
Hope chuckled at Josie’s realization and quickly served them before putting the ice cream in the freezer. She then took the plates to the island at the center of the kitchen and pulled up a pair of stools. The two made a bit of small talk about the food and their mornings as they ate, mostly just enjoying each other’s company. When they had finished, but a couple of minutes later, Hope was about to clear the plates when she glanced over at Josie again and realized the brunette had a drop of ice cream on the tip of her nose. In the tribrid’s mind, the siphon had never looked more beautiful than she did at that moment, and Hope froze for just a second to take it in, to capture that image in her mind’s eye. Then she gently leaned over, saying “You missed a spot,” and placed a kiss on the tip of Josie’s nose, tasting the vanilla that was, she thought, indistinguishable from the taste of Josie’s lips every time she kissed them.
Josie chuckled and put her hands to the side of Hope’s face, redirecting the older girl’s lips away from her nose and to her own lips. As their lips met again—softly, gently, and so in love—all thoughts of the dishes were forgotten. Soon, too, the entire world faded away, and all that was left were two pairs of lips pressed together, two lives made complete.