Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 88290 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88290 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
“Who wants to read to me while I start?” Slate asked, jumping right in. “I do most of the cooking at the firehouse and at home.”
“Well, your food must be great from the looks of Carwood,” Luc said with a chuckle.
Carwood thought of himself as obese, but I’d corrected him many times. Body-shaming, even when the individual was the one doing it to themselves, was not something that was constructive in any way. To have Luc say a word about Carwood’s weight, even in passing, was horrible.
Most likely, Luc never had so many people turn to him in shock and horror at the same time. Was it rude? Yes. Did he mean it like that? Probably not. He didn’t strike me as the kind of man who was terribly in touch with the emotions of others, but oblivious seldom equaled mean. Since I was fairly certain he hadn't meant to be an ass, I gave him the benefit of the doubt. His words, I decided, had just slipped out.
Slate turned to look at Luc. “You have to ask yourself, what did that sound like?”
Luc glanced around at all of us, finally his wife, who looked mortified.
“You didn’t mean to be a prick, did you?”
“No, I…no.”
Carwood tried for a smile but then excused himself.
Slate passed me the mixing spoon. “I’m thinking maybe you cook?”
“I do,” I assured him, taking the spoon from him. As soon as he left, going after Carwood, my husband turned to Luc.
“What was your thinking there?”
“To compliment Slater, not to in any way shame Carwood.”
“Might need to rethink your phrasing for next time,” I suggested.
“Yes,” he agreed, and I barely heard him.
“I don’t wanna be a jerk,” Sam said gently, his voice low, “but I don’t think you and Carwood are going to make it, being around each other anymore tonight.”
Luc nodded.
“And since he’s not the one who made things uncomfortable…” Sam began, leading Luc to the foregone conclusion.
“I think we’re going to go ahead and go,” Marley chimed in brightly. “But I would love to get all your numbers, if you wouldn’t mind. I’d love to try this again another time and, Chief Deputy, I still need that spelling on Kohn.”
She was tenacious. I liked that in a person. And since she’d been lovely…we all gave her our numbers so she could get in touch at another time once Luc’s foot was no longer inserted quite so far into his mouth.
Once Luc and Marley excused themselves, I turned to the group, grinning. “Okay, so, not to brag, but I myself make a pretty great lasagna and––”
“He’s not bragging,” Sam chimed in. “It’s glorious.”
“Thank you dear,” I praised him, “and since we’re a bit behind, how ‘bout I go ahead and just whip up a batch of the meatless one I do and get us back on track.”
Everyone agreed to step back and get out of my way.
I had Sam help me, and I was surprised at all the things he knew how to do, having watched me make the dish so many times over the years. Of course it was obvious, very quickly, that I was not consulting a recipe, instead totally off script, as people started to drift over.
Bethany came over after Kiki checked to see what was happening at our station, and I’d explained that I was working from years of brain, but mostly muscle, memory.
“Mistakes were made,” I informed her, “words were spoken, and now since we’re behind, I’m catching us up, and I think this was the best alternative.”
“Yes, but everyone is supposed to be taking part and––”
“We’re all talking,” I pointed out, and the others smiled and nodded.
“Most importantly, it’s important to be flexible,” Sam told her. “Don’t you think?”
Glancing around, seeing the strain on people, the desire to just have things run smoothly, she let it go. “Yes,” she rushed out. “Yes, I do.”
Minutes later, Carwood and Slate were back, Carwood smiling sheepishly, Slate behind him, hovering close like a guardian angel, hands on his shoulders and Carwood not acting as though his roommate’s touch was unwelcome. More than that, it seemed as though Carwood was quite comfortable in the man’s space.
Luc was oblivious, but so was Carwood.
“I’m so sorry for bolting away,” he said when he was back in the circle with us.
“Nothing to be sorry for,” Sam assured him. “And so you know, Amber fixed the crappy salad––”
“Thank you, Sam,” she said, smiling at him.
“And Remy got the bread baked, so we are nearly ready to have a nosh.”
Carwood chuckled. “A nosh?”
“Oh, this is so not going to be my dinner,” Sam said, motioning at the counter. “For one, there is not enough for me to eat what I usually do and still allow any of you to have more than a bite. For two, there needs to be béchamel, not ricotta, in my lasagna, along with, I dunno,” he paused dramatically, “meat.”