James
I scan the fridge, the contents of the freezer, the grocery cupboard…
What to make?
Something special…
A welcome meal…
Michael wanders into the kitchen. Legs akimbo, he hooks thumbs into his pockets. “You mad at me?”
“No. You were right to do what you did. But it’s going to need a few adjustments by all of us methinks.”
He sucks in his cheeks. “You’re not wrong there.”
“Where is she now?”
“Upstairs. I settled her into one of the spare rooms. She’s exhausted. Looked set to drop. I think she’ll sleep for a while.”
“And Charlotte?”
“Her too.” He looks at the jar in my hand. “What’s that?”
“Truffles. I thought I would make something special. Beouf de…”
He claps a hand on my shoulder. “If you don’t mind a suggestion, yes, but another night. For today, good solid home cooking.
