That’s one thing that will have to change with the fawn. The fawn. I’m already thinking about it like it’s real, like it exists. Jack has to commit to prioritizing his family rather than staying late at the office, doing things people below him should be doing.
But he cares about work in a way that I don’t. If I could stay home and be a full-time dad, that would be my dream.
Getting ahead of myself here.
I put the car in park and saunter inside the house, where I smell onions cooking. Do I get a home-cooked meal tonight?
Bennett is in the kitchen wearing only his jeans and an apron. It’s the one that says “Kiss the chef with tongue.” He leans back and waves at me through the doorway as I hang up my keys and wipe my hooves on the mat.
“Hey, honey!” he calls out, waving his spatula.
“Hey yourself.” After I’m good and clean, I sidle into the kitchen where cut vegetables are spread out across the countertops. “Making dinner?”
“Yup. Italian.”
I squeeze his ass as I go past, and his little tail wags.
“You’re in a good mood, Arthur,” Bennett remarks as he turns back to cooking.
“Well, yeah, I am. I had a think…”
“Uh oh.” Bennett scoops up the onions and tosses them into the pan. “Don’t hurt yourself.”
“Hey now. I’ll tell you more when Jack gets here.” I glance out the window. “When is he coming home, by the way?”
Bennett’s smile dims. “He didn’t answer my text earlier, so I’m not sure.”
“That’s strange.” Usually he at least communicates with us if he’s going to be late, which is most of the time. I pick up my phone and call him instead.
It rings three times before he picks up.
“What is it, Arthur?” Jack asks.
I wince at his impatient tone. “Just wondering when you’ll be back.”
“Wrapping something up,” he says in a softer voice. “Then I’ll be on my way.”
“Good, because Bennett’s cooking up something good and you don’t want it to be cold.”
I hang up before saying goodbye, a little peeved, and stuff my phone back in my pocket.
“What do you need me to do?” I ask Bennett, arming myself with an apron of my own.
We cook together, bumping hips when we get in each other’s way. This is what I want—endless nights like this, preparing food for our family together. I get a little shiver down my spine thinking about that future.
While we’re draining the noodles, headlights appear in the kitchen window as Jack parks his SUV in the driveway. The brown satyr stomps as he comes inside, like he always does, and hangs up his coat.
“Right on time,” I say as I turn the heat off under the sauce. Jack doesn’t say a word about being late as he joins us in the kitchen, his expression tired. I stop him with an arm on his shoulder and lean over to kiss his cheek.
“Hey,” Jack says, his shoulders relaxing. Bennett approaches and butts his forehead against Jack’s playfully.
“You’ve been working late pretty often,” Bennett says.
Jack rubs his mane. “Lot of pressure lately to get these reports out.”
I pull down the plates and hand them out as we serve ourselves. I don’t want to talk about reports tonight, though. I have bigger plans.
Once we’re all served and the scent of steaming garlic bread is filling up the dining room, I finally can’t help myself any longer.
