She blushed, tucking the truant lock of hair behind her ears, as the last guests bid farewell.
“You’re a lucky bastard,” Daniel slurred, “perfect career, perfect home, perfect wife”. “And you’re the drunk sleeping on the couch tonight,” Jill chided, dragging her boisterous husband away.
Dinner had been a resounding success. From the delicious food to the elegantly set table, compliments has rained down all evening. God, at least four people had asked for her soufflé recipe. The hours of slogging had been worth it.
The blow came as a shock. “Useless bitch. You want to humiliate me in from of my colleagues? You want people to think I can’t afford fresh flowers!”
In response to The Friday Fictioneers challenge of 25 May 2018