When Macy showed up at my side door with a large pot and an equally big smile, a subdued John standing behind her, I let them in graciously.
“What did you bring?” I asked. “It smells wonderful.”
Macy set the pot on my stove and turned on the burner. “Just some of my infamous vegetable soup, ingredients courtesy of my little garden. It needs a few minutes to reheat, but then I think we’ll be good to go.”
We hugged.
“Thank you. I’m sure Tristan will appreciate it. Your cooking was always better than mine.”
John, who stood just inside the door, smiled and patted his slight paunch. “She’s not too shabby.”
Macy and I exchanged amused looks, laughing.
“Thanks for coming over, John,” I said, giving him a quick hug.
“Not a problem.” He glanced toward the doorway to the dining and living rooms, where Tristan’s snores entered the kitchen. “If Macy keeps bringing your husband food, you might need to put him on a diet.”
Macy rolled her eyes. “You need to get back to playing on the men’s baseball league and not just coaching Johnny’s little league, dear. As for poor Tristan, I think he just needs to take it easy.”
I took some bowls out of the cupboards and set the table. “Sorry the kitchen’s such a mess.” I gestured at the stacks of boxes on the floor along the walls.
Macy waved me off. “Well, that’s why we’re here, darling–to help get your house set up. Just think, once all of Tristan’s stuff is moved in, you can start decorating and making it your own.”
“One thing at a time, Mace.” I grinned and went into the living room, where Tristan slumbered. I watched the steady rise and fall of his chest for several seconds, contemplating whether to wake him.
I returned to the kitchen. “I think we should eat and let Tristan grab a bowl when he’s ready. I’d hate to disturb him.”
“Fine by me,” John said, taking a bowl off the table and going to the stove to fill it.
Macy and I gave each other knowing looks that said the same thing: Men.
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