Touching the flower petals attached to her dress, matching the wreath her husband had made for her, she looked her friend straight in the eye and said, "He cooks."
"No, he doesn't; he boils water, cooks plain pasta with butter, and in all honesty, mighty fine rice. But cook? No way." Her friend retorted with a sly smirk.
"Oh, but he does." She said while nodding her head.
She continued, "The other day, as I was dressing in front of him trying to do it with some sex appeal, hard to do with a cast, I must add, but I gave it my best shot, I cooed, "What's for lunch Cherie FM?"
He sat down and sighed, "Pasta?"
Smiling meekly, I reminded him that the doctor said, "A protein and calcium-rich diet for healing those bones… remember?"
"Doesn't butter on the pasta count for anything?" He grumbled.
I kissed his cheek and said, "No."
He went to the kitchen.
As I read my book, I heard cupboards opening, jars clacking, and mumbling sounds such as, "Where are the herbs? Where is the olive oil? Where is the pan, where is …." I leaned back, closed my eyes uttered a prayer, though I wanted to yell, "Right in front of you." But what good would that have done?
"Don't tell me a miracle occurred in the kitchen, don't tell me that!" Her friend nudged her, then asked if she could serve herself a glass of wine since her friend couldn't open the wine bottle.
"A miracle indeed."
"What did he cook? Let me be the judge of the miracle." Her friend laughed.
"Wild rice with grilled artichokes for lunch. Sauteed scallops in a cream-grilled onion sauce with roasted potatoes for dinner. Baked salmon with ravioli the next day…"
But before she could finish her report, her friend exclaimed, "I'll be damn, the man has been living undercover!"
Bowing her head, she added, "I suppose I have done it all thinking he couldn't do it, or that he didn't want to do it… or that he could manage the bank account and I could manage the kitchen." she went on to say, "Maybe I have been controlling the kitchen not allowing his true culinary talents to come forth."
But her friend slugged her, waking her a bit, "Okay, so he is cooking, cause you will both starve, eat sandwiches, or at least have to drive thirty minutes to eat out… let's not get carried away."
But she was…. being carried away, and it felt soooooooooooooooo good.
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