“Marlena, get out of the kitchen…you don’t know how to cook,” John said as he walked into the penthouse kitchen. The look of abject horror on his face was evident. “Say who? I can cook,” Marlena exclaimed as she got a mixing cup down from the cabinet and proceeded to poor and measure two …
What I had with John was a thunderstorm. It was full of lightening and wind and drama and passion.
The Jarlena Journal 