Later that evening, Bryan called in at the supermarket on his way home and bought all the ingredients he’d need to make homemade pizzas. Pizzas weren’t as grand as the lasagne he’d baked the previous night, but he couldn’t pull a rabbit out of the hat every time.
When Ben came home he had half a hamburger in his hand.
“Hi Bryan,” he said, pushing the door closed behind him.
“Hi,” said Bryan sounding as though someone had let the air out of him.
“Something smells good,” said Ben before biting into what remained of his burger. “What are you making?” A bit of burger flew from his mouth and did a swan dive to the kitchen floor.
“Pizza,” said Bryan. “I thought we could have pizza for dinner tonight, but you’ve already eaten.”
“But you cooked last night. You don’t have to start cooking for
