Banana Peppers Make Perfect.

I started work this week. Yes, work. I finally landed a steady job as an account executive for a mid-sized advertising agency here on the island. The pay is OK; the independence even better.

The only bad thing is I have to be at work at 8 a.m., an hour earlier than I'm used to punching the clock. I can forget leaving the house late too. You can't rush anywhere on an island -- EVER. It's almost like the people here have a set of steel drums playing in their heads at all times. They're so laid back. Even in "rush hour."

So, needless to say, I've had to get myself back into a routine of setting my alarm for morning wake-up call. There's nothing like 4 weeks of exploring on an island to get you out of working shape.

By the time I've gotten home every day this week, my wonderful boyfriend has already been there. And two days ago, much to my surprise, he was making dinner when I walked in.

Pizza. Homemade pizza. From one of those kits where you just add water to the dough, and Voila!, your own personal slice of Italy.

My heart melted when I saw him.

The kitchen was a wreck. There was sauce and cheese and dough powder all over the counter. The sink was filled with dishes (I'm not sure how or why he had to use so many for a kit, but he did), and he was spreading the tomato sauce out with a spatula (instead of a spoon, like I do).

"Hello, Love," he said. "I was gonna surprise ya."

I couldn't help but smile, kick off my heels and help him finish. Together, we decorated our pizzas with onions (which he didn't like until I came along) and banana peppers (which I didn't care for), and all the cheese we could stand.

The old me would have wanted to punch someone like me in the face. "Nothing is that perfect," I would say. And it's true, nothing is.

Unless you add some banana peppers and the one you love.