She moved closer and, sure enough, the unmistakable scent of singed chili met her nostrils.
“Who turned the knob to high?” She hurried to the cooker, flicked off the switch, grabbed pot holders, and pulled the ceramic crock from the base. “I asked Harmony not to mess with it anymore. This is what happens.”
Damn. Damn. Dammit. She had been planning to take a picture and post it with the recipe. That was her end-of-the-day, everyone-will-eat-it plan.
She couldn’t exactly postthis.
“Uh.” Jack had the look of guilt plastered on his face. Maybe he’d tried to hide it, maybe he hadn’t. It didn’t matter because she saw it all the same. This wasn’t Harmony’s fault.
“It wasn’t Harmony, was it?” She scraped at the burnt edge with a spatula. This was fine. Totally fine. There was always a plan B when it came to supper, and she could do something else for the post. She just needed to think of something. Not a big deal.
This is fine.
“It was frozen earlier,” he said, like that was a reasonable explanation.
Yes, that’s how these things worked. Frozen meal in. Cook on low. Dinner comes out. “That’s how slow cookers work. They take frozen and make it dinner.”
In Los Angeles things moved quicker. They probably didn’t use slow cookers there.
“I’m sorry,” he said, and he truly sounded like he was.
“Hey, it happens.” April nodded, let out a long breath. “It’s fine. Really.”
Plan B.
She tried to salvage the middle of the chili, but the thick crust around the edge was seriously black. The flavor had likely permeated the entire meal.
“My slow cooker thinks it’s the terminator. You have to keep it on low if you want it to be on high.”
Jack looked at her like she was speaking gibberish. No, it didn’t make a ton of sense, but she had figured out how to make the whole thing work long ago.
“Well, it terminated dinner,” Jack said, deadpan. His tone was light, but was she mistaken or did he look disappointed?
“Crud.” April ran her hand over her face.
“I’ll cook,” Jack said.
“You already folded all the laundry. I think you’re off the hook.” She shook her head, because this was her problem to solve. The kids were picky and then there was the whole gluten and no-dairy thing.
“I’ll make pizza by calling my friends at Dominos,” he said like it wasn’t a big deal.
“That’s not cooking,” she said with a chuckle. “But good effort.”
“Hey, it’ll work.”
“Harmony doesn’t do gluten,” she said, resigned. It would sure be easier if it would work.
“Gluten-free crust.” Jack lifted his hands like he’d solved the problem. “Doesn’t everywhere have that now?”
Yes. Mostly. Except…
“Rohan is lactose intolerant. When we do pizza, it’s a whole thing and I have to make it here because otherwise we’d all just have sauce.”
Jack frowned.
She knew that feeling.
“Where do you order in from when you don’t cook?” he asked, pulling his cell from his slacks pocket. “I’ll order that.”
