“You’re such a lightweight.” He teased as he retook his seat to eat his curry. Seriously … there was something wrong with him that he could eat it like it was vanilla yogurt. “All the guys love this dish. Baird and John are disappointed I don’t make it more often.”
“Then they’re lying.” I peered into his fridge and freezer, found a frozen pizza in the latter, and removed it.
“What are you doing?”
“There is no way I’m eating the curry that came to kill.”
“Oh my God, I cannot believe you.” He chuckled, shaking his head.
“It’s not just me, Captain. I can’t even imagine what that curry is doing to your insides right now. Baird and John are definitely lying.”
“Aye, we’ll see.” Still munching on death curry, he picked up his phone from the dining table and called someone. As the person picked up, he put it on speaker. “Baird, I’m here with Beth.”
“Oi, oi, how goes it?” Baird’s cheerful voice filled the room. I crossed over toward the phone.
“I made my famous masala for Beth, and she said it’s not a masala, that it’s too spicy.”
“Nottoo spicy, Baird,” I interjected. “Too spicyinfers moderation. This bloody curry nearly destroyed my vocal cords. I’m actually sweating.”
“Lightweight, eh?” Callan teased. “Tell her she’s being a curry baby. My masala is delicious.”
There was silence on the end of the line.
Callan frowned. “Baird?”
“Eh … well … I hate to tell you this, mate, but John and I almost lost our colons to your curry. Your curry is so spicy, the only flavor you can taste is the inevitability of shits for days.”
I cackled at Callan’s horrified expression, tears pricking the corners of my eyes as Baird went on.
“Your curry almost gave me a chronic fucking fissure. The mere mention of your curry makes my sphincter shrink in fear.”
“I can’t breathe.” I wheezed as I slid down the back of the island to the floor, laughing so hard I was close to peeing myself.
I heard the rumble of laughter in Baird’s voice as he asked, “Please tell me that poor lassie didn’t eat a whole plate of it.”
“One bite,” Callan huffed out. “Why the hell didn’t you tell me? You said it was great.”
“You were just so proud of yourself. We felt bad. Who wants to be told that their curry aged someone’s bowels by twenty years?”
I howled again, tears streaming down my face between Baird’s words and Callan’s expression.
“Fucking hell.” He pushed his plate away, looking at it in horror.
“Don’t feel bad, Cal. You should be proud of your own constitution. There is no doubt in my mind that there is no stomach bug on earth that can take you down, mate. I’m quite envious, really.”
“You’ve eaten my curry three times.”
“That’s how much we love you … and care about your fragile ego.”
“Fuck off,” Callan said without rancor and hung up.
Finally calm, my stomach sore from laughing, I grinned at Callan from my spot on the floor. “You know … I really needed that today.”
He huffed out a laugh and slumped back in his chair. “I suppose that makes up for finding out my signature dish is a culinary nuclear weapon.”
I giggled and Callan’s mouth curled at the corners, his expression turning tender in a way I hadn’t seen in years.
It made my breath catch.
