They were together at the table, just finishing their meal when it happened. “What the—” Andrew started. “Did you just . . . fart?”

“What . . . ?” Sara replied still looking at her food. “I—maybe. Yeah, I guess so.” She stabbed fiercely at the last baby corn in her stir fry. “Everyone farts. Why are you making such a big deal about it?”

“Because until today,” Andrew said, “you had never farted in front of me.”

Cheeks flushed, still avoiding eye contact, Sara said. “You’re being gross, and super awkward. It was just a fart. Can’t you let it go?”

Andrew shook his head slowly, deliberately. “I will never let it go.”

“Fine,” Sara shouted, slamming her fork down on the table. “Sorry for ruining our relationship with my flatulence. I guess you’ll just have to dump me and keep looking for that fairy tale woman with no bodily functions to date.” She pushed away from the table, but Andrew grabbed her hand.

“Wait,” he said. “You don’t understand.”

“Don’t understand what?” Looking at him for the first time, she saw his eyes wide, brow furrowed, jaws tense. “What is that face?”

Pthhhppuuuurbbbbt, he farted. “I love you too.”

“You’re disgusting,” Sara said smiling.

Photo by Ishan @seefromthesky on Unsplash

Story by Gregory M. Fox