The warm, inviting aroma of freshly brewed coffee and toasted bread filled the kitchen, wrapping Lois and Clark in a comforting cocoon of domestic bliss. Sunlight streamed through the window, casting golden streaks across the table. There was a plate of fluffy scrambled eggs, perfectly crispy bacon and some of Lois’s favorite croissants from the little bakery just a block away.
Clark had gone the extra mile, as he often did, arranging fresh fruit, juicy berries, sliced kiwi and orange segments, in a neat, colorful pattern. A small jar of Martha’s best marmalade gleamed like liquid sunshine beside the croissants, accompanied by butter that he had softened just enough to spread easily.
Lois couldn’t suppress a smile as she slid into her seat. “This looks amazing, farm-boy,” she said, reaching for her coffee.
It was exactly how she liked it.
Clark grinned, sitting across from her. “Sunday mornings are supposed to be special,” he said, pouring himself a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice.
Lois took a bite of her croissant, its flaky layers melting in her mouth. “You know,” she said, “if you ever get tired of saving the world, I think you could open a bed-and-breakfast. You’d make a killing.”
Clark chuckled. “I think I’ll stick to rescuing people for now. But I’ll keep the idea in mind for retirement.”
They ate slowly, savoring the quiet intimacy of the moment. At one point, Clark reached across the table, his fingers brushing hers. “You look beautiful,” he said softly, his voice filled with that quiet sincerity that always caught her off guard.
Lois felt a warm blush creep up her cheeks. “You’re biased,” she said, her tone teasing.
“Absolutely,” he replied without hesitation, his eyes sparkling.
Outside, the world seemed frozen in time, the streets still and quiet beneath a blanket of snow. But inside their kitchen, the air hummed with warmth, love, and the unspoken promise of a day spent together.
Lois leaned back in her chair, cradling her coffee mug, and sighed contentedly. “You’re right, Sunday mornings should be special. I could get used to this.”
Clark smiled, reaching for another croissant. “Good. Because I plan to spoil you like this every Sunday for the rest of our lives.”
Lois sipped her coffee, savoring the warmth, and glanced at the advent calendar bag sitting next to her plate. She set her mug down and pulled the bag closer, untying the ribbon with a flick of her fingers. Inside was a piece of paper, with the instructions for building paper lanterns.
Clark smiled and reached for something, hidden from her view. Then he pulled out a lantern just like the one on the instruction. Its vibrant colors and intricate patterns catching the light streaming in through the window.
“It’s beautiful,” Lois said, holding it up to inspect. “Where’s this one from?”
Clark leaned back in his chair, his expression soft. “It’s inspired by the Ligligan Parul, or Giant Lantern Festival, in the Philippines. San Fernando is known as the Christmas Capital of the Philippines because of it. The lanterns represent light and hope, especially during the holiday season. It starts today and lasts until New Year.”
Lois traced her fingers over the paper edges, her lips curving into a smile. “Light and hope, we all have the same theme around the world.”
“Hmm, if only some people remembered that more often.,” Clark replied, clearly remembering a rescue from last night.
Lois interjected, taking his hand. “Because of you, they do. You’re a light of hope for all of us.”
He smiled back at her. “I know, but even I have my doubts, sometimes. Thank you for always brightening up my life.” He pulled her on his lap and kissed her lovingly. Then he went on, “I thought we could make our own lanterns today. Something colorful to brighten up the neighborhood.”
“Arts and Crafts, farm-boy?” She teased. “Sounds like a perfect sunday to me.”
After breakfast, they cleared the dining table and spread out materials: colorful paper, scissors, glue, and strings of tiny LED lights.
“You know,” Lois said as she folded a piece of paper carefully, “I could get used to this. Maybe we should pick out a few of these Christmas traditions and do them next year?”
“That sounds wonderful, honey, count me in.” He grinned, pleased that his wife finally began to see Christmas as more than a chore.
Holding up her partially constructed lantern, she murmured, “This actually looks decent.”
Clark leaned over to inspect her work, his shoulder brushing hers. “Decent? It’s bold and unique, just like you.”
She rolled her eyes but smiled, nudging him lightly.
By mid-afternoon, their lanterns were finished. Clark’s was intricate, with delicate star patterns that reflected his meticulous attention to detail. Lois’s was bold and modern, with strong geometric shapes and vibrant colors.
They hung the lanterns in the window, stepping back to admire the soft, colorful glow that filled the room.
“They’re perfect,” Lois said, her voice quieter now.
Clark stood beside her, his hand brushing hers. “Light has a way of drawing people in, even on the darkest nights.”
Lois glanced at him, her eyes warm but teasing. “You’re such a sap sometimes.”
He smiled, slipping his arm around her waist. “Just speaking the truth. You know, in the Philippines, these lanterns aren’t just decorations, they’re symbols of resilience and community. They’re a reminder that even when times are tough, people come together to share hope.”
Lois rested her head against his shoulder. “I like that.”
Clark kissed her temple softly.
As the light from their lanterns spilled out into the street, Lois felt a quiet contentment settle over her. It wasn’t just the lanterns, or the tradition, it was the simple act of creating something meaningful together.
For a moment, they stood in the soft glow, watching as the lights flickered gently, a beacon of hope for anyone who passed by.
