I hit the market on my way home, pulling up the recipe on my phone so I didn’t have to go off memory and risk missing an ingredient, then I studied that recipe for a good hour after I got home before I even got started. I was not missing anything this time.
Thirty minutes of prep and forty-five minutes of bake time later, I had a golden delicious potpie cooling on my stovetop and the biggest grin on my face.
No more burned-up dinners for my boy. He deserved the best.
And now that I was currently carrying that pie plate in my hands and walking up the drive to Brian’s house, that grin I had on earlier didn’t hold a candle to the one I was wearing now.
I couldn’t wait to show him what I’d made. The pretty design on the edge of my piecrust looked awesome.
“Hello?” I called out as I entered the house, knocking once but not waiting for an answer because Brian told me never to wait for an answer, just to walk in as long as his Jeep was there.
“In here,” Brian yelled from the direction of the kitchen.
I shut the door, kicked my sandals off and scooted them up against the wall, then padded down the hallway with a bounce in my step.
A sound came from upstairs. It was light and quick like a snap, but sounded an awful lot like a yelp …or a muffled bark.
“Oh, gross.” I shivered with disgust as I moved around the staircase. “I better not see Jamie walking around here collared on a leash,” I mumbled to myself.
Brian was leaning over the counter when he came into view, staring down at what I knew had to be a crossword book. He flicked a pen between his fingers and tapped it rhythmically against the granite.
Pen not pencil. He was that good at crosswords.
“Hey, Trouble,” I greeted him as I crossed the room, watching his head lift and his eyes smile.
“Hey, Wild.” He dropped the pen in the center of the book, straightened, then noticed the plate in my hands. He cocked a brow. “You did it again, didn’t you?”
“Did what?”
“Told you, babe. I’m good with four recipes and that looks like a fifth. Is it?”
“Nope,” I replied cheerfully, liking that he remembered what my four trusted recipes were. I came to a stop in front of him and held out the plate proudly. “Well, it is but it’s not a new fifth. It’s the same one I burnt up before, but now it’s not all burnt up. See?”
He took the plate from me and admired the dish.
“Damn,” he mumbled appreciatively. “This looks good. Really fucking good.” His eyes lifted to mine. “Like your designs along the edge. Nice touch.”
Ah! He noticed!
I wanted to pirouette around the room but instead I chose to satisfy my need to celebrate with a less obnoxious bop of my shoulders.
“Thanks! And it should taste just as good as it looks. I left all the bitter out this time.”
A laugh rumbled in his chest. His eyes warmed.
“Didn’t need to do this,” he said, leaning in and kissing me quick. “Appreciate it, though.”
“Anytime, babe.”
He gave me a slow smile as he pulled back.
“Ready to eat?” he asked, setting the pie plate down next to his book, opening up the silverware drawer, grabbing two forks, then coming back over to stand next to me. “Need to taste some of this,” he murmured to himself, not bothering with a plate and sticking his fork into the crust like he was starved, digging out a heaping bite that needed to be warmed but apparently he wasn’t bothering with that either, and shoveling it in, chewing and moaning in potpie heaven.
“Savage,” I joked.
He gave me a wink.
“I’m a lady so I’m using a plate.”
I went to move around him to get to the cabinet that held the dishware when that quiet barking sound came from upstairs again.
I slapped the counter.
“Seriously? How do you put up with that? Aren’t your ears bleeding?”
Brian slowly turned his head.
“Huh?” he asked through a mouthful.
I gestured at the ceiling conveniently after another Jamie kink bark sounded.
“That!” I snapped. “How can you stand here eating homemade potpie while your best friend is upstairs acting like a house pet?”
He shrugged, swallowed, then stated matter-of-factly, “Really good potpie, babe.”
“That’s …” I lowered my hand and joined it with the other, knotting my fingers together. “Really?” I asked softly, leaning closer.
Brian nodded through a smile.
I inhaled sharply and curled my toes against the wood floor.
The urge to do another celebratory dance was stronger than ever, but I kept myself composed.
I’d wait until he went to the bathroom or something.
Brian dropped the fork in the dish, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and reached for mine, tugging me to follow behind him as he led us out of the kitchen.
“Come on. I’ll show you the house pet,” he said, heading up the stairs.
Panic tingled up my spine.
As if the weird, freaky bastard could hear me, he barked again.
I pointed up the stairs, then turned that finger on Brian and waved it in his face. “No thank you.”
Brian shook his head through a laugh, grabbed the hand I had suspended in the air, and resumed tugging me behind him as he continued climbing.
“I’m not sure why I gotta keep saying this but you seem to keep forgetting, don’t care what the fuck Jamie is doing or who, not my business and I never want it to be my business, which eliminates the possibility of me ever wanting to show you anything he’s doing in there.”