from my hand. “Oh my gosh, what in the world is that?”
Cali jogs over to the door, and I poke my head around the corner, waiting to see what’s going on. The door flies open before she can reach it.
Jags stands in the doorway with two duffel bags and a smile that makes my stomach clench. “Honeys, I’m home,” he bellows.
“You sound like that dude from Sister Wives,” Cali tells him.
“Hey, whatever works for you,” he jokes.
I tried to forget that Jags was moving in too. I tried to forget that I’m pretty much being forced to stay here because I need a babysitter. “Holy heavens, what is that amazing smell?” Jags asks, dropping his bags in the entryway.
“Mac and Cheese with garlic bread. Hope you’re hungry,” I tell him, hearing a scowl in my voice. I didn’t know I was capable of scowling with only my voice, but I now know it’s completely possible. I also know I’m just pretending to be annoyed with his presence. I think I’m mostly annoyed that I’m not annoyed by him at all.
Jags walks in and past me into the kitchen where he whips the cover off the pot. “Oh wow, that is beautiful.” Clearly, he already knows his way around the kitchen as he yanks open one of the drawers and retrieves a fork. Without a second thought on being completely rude, he plunges the fork into the pot, digs around for a minute and pulls out a browned piece from the bottom. “My favorite part.” He doesn’t even blow on the steaming food before he closes his mouth around the fork, an action I’m pretty sure he’s now regretting, by the look on his face.
“It’s like you’re a four-year-old who needs to be told to blow on your steaming hot food before shoving it all in your mouth,” I tell him.
His jaw drops and steam pours out from between his lips. “Hot!” he kind of says.
“It’s on the stove, and you took a piece from the bottom,” I remind him.
“Ahh, soo goooood though,” he says with his mouth still hanging open.
Cali hands Jags a glass filled with amber liquid. “A Jack for Jags?”
“Boy, you know the way to my heart,” he tells her. “You’re one of my favorite Sister Wives. Tango has trained you well.”
Cali punches Jags in the shoulder and pulls the towel turban away from her hair. “I’m starving. Can I dish it out?” she asks me.
“Sure,” I say, moving over to the fridge where I pull out the salad I made a couple of hours ago. “How’s Tango feeling now?”
She didn’t say much to me when she came back. She just hopped into the shower after complaining about the hospital smell. “I don’t know,” she says.
“Are they giving him good pain meds?” Jags asks.
“Too good. He was pretty much in a drugged fog the whole time I was there. It sucks to see him that way.”
Jags places his arm around Cali’s shoulders. “He’s going to be okay. Look what he’s made it through, huh?”
“I know,” she says, shrugging herself out of his grip. Cali takes Tyler down from the counter and drops her into one of the chairs at the table then sits down beside her, which is a little out of character. She might have one of the dirtiest mouths in the world, but she doesn’t usually sit down until everyone has food in front of them. I know she’s hurting. Jags notices the same. Not that he’s known her very long, but Cali is a very particularly behaved woman. She can be pegged as a type A within a few minutes of having an initial conversation—everything needs to be a certain way or else.
Jags places his hand on her shoulder for a brief moment, then joins me in the main part of the kitchen. “I feel bad for her,” he says to me under his breath.
“Me too,” I agree.
Jags reaches into the cabinet above my head and takes down four serving bowls, four plates, and four glasses. Gently taking the wooden spoon from my hand, he starts scooping the food onto the plates. Landon usually cooked the food but would then sit down and wait for me to serve it to him. I was to be his housewife. That’s what he said he wanted. Although he wouldn’t let me cook because he was a chef, I didn’t particularly like that part since I love to cook too. Things were his way or no way. It’s funny