“Eat more,” I ordered, loading up his plate.
“Nothing better than a man who knows how to eat,” Gran quipped.
“They didn’t have enough food at the event last night,” Chris said, hoovering up the rest of his plate while Gran and I watched in wonder. Even the parrot gazed upon him in awe.
Chris reached for another helping then gave me a sheepish look.
“Anyone else want any?”
“You go right ahead!” Gran said, scraping the rest of the breakfast onto his plate.
“This is probably the first time I’ve had a home-cooked meal since…” He shook his head. “Never mind.”
“Since Addison?” I asked.
Chris glowered. “As if she would ever cook anything. She thought organizing catering was too much work.”
“Grace can cook anything you want!” Gran bragged.
No, I could not. My repertoire consisted of working-class German food. Anything fancier was a no-go.
“Lasagna, fresh homemade pasta,” Gran listed off, lying through her teeth.
Chris perked up at the mention of lasagna.
“Gran.” I could not cook lasagna.
“What?” she said. “You are a great cook.” She patted my hand.
“I like lasagna,” Chris said hopefully.
Fuck. Now added onto my to-do list was figuring out how to make lasagna. Maybe Elsie could give me a tutorial. Wait, why was I going to make lasagna for Chris?
“Your husband wants lasagna,” Gran said reproachfully.
“Chris might need to make it himself,” I said.
Chris looked hurt. Gran kicked me under the table. Right. We did not want to end up homeless.
“Sure, I can make it.”
“Your famous lasagna?”
Jeez, Gran.
“Yep, world famous!”
I made a mental note to beg for a recipe from Elsie.
“But unfortunately, I have to go. And I’m sure Chris is busy.”
“Actually, I thought I would spend the day with you,” he said. “I could be your assistant.”
“You don’t have to work? Wait. What am I saying? Of course you don’t have to work!” I laughed.
Chris’s face hardened.
I felt like a bitch.
