The morning after.
He’s outside on a chilly Saturday doing the manly work of taking apart a rotting wheelbarrow for “spare parts”. She’s inside doing womanly battle with a particularly uncooperative pâte brisée.
He: [enters kitchen] “Oh, is that your way of apologizing for screeching at me?”
She: [sliding the apple turnovers into the oven]: “Get! Out!”
… to be continued