Making my way down to the now empty garage, I open my door and rip the blazer off, jumping into some loose-fitting leggings. It’s the weekend. I’ll have two whole days of trying to fill the time. Just as I get comfortable, Tom walks up the ramp, a container in his hand. Tom opens my door and passes the container to me. “Hey, I forgot to give this to you. I heated it up on my way down. Mary made lasagna last night.”
“Thanks Tom,” I say, grabbing the hot container from his hand. The cheese, spices and meat scent fills my car, my mouth waters.
Tom leans against my car. “Eat, I have something to tell you.”
Opening the container, I dig in. Tom even provides a fork and butter knife, my empty stomach welcomes the lasagna. Mary is a great cook. I can see why Tom is always so excited to get ho
