The Husband Recipe Read Online Free PDF

She looked more than a little like Little Red Riding Hood, and he wanted to eat her up. Did that make him the Big Bad Wolf?
She lifted the basket a couple of inches. “I’ve brought a little something to welcome you to the neighborhood, and to thank you for getting the window taken care of so quickly.”
What choice had he had? His kids had done the damage, and he couldn’t very well have left Lauren’s house vulnerable overnight. Not that this neighborhood seemed to be unsafe. It was just common sense. Still, he supposed it would be rude to send her and her basket away, so he stepped back and invited her inside.
She hadn’t seemed at all interested in getting to know him yesterday, when he’d made a fumbling attempt at being neighborly. Maybe something had changed her mind. Then again, maybe she was just more sociable when she was wearing a bra.
Her eyes scanned the living room, and he knew very well what she saw. The laundry he’d been folding on the couch, the half-finished puzzle on the coffee table, the toys Justin had been playing with and left scattered about. If he’d known she was coming he would’ve picked up a bit, but since she’d dropped by unannounced she’d have to take what she got.
She shifted the basket a bit, and Cole realized it must be heavy. Belatedly, he reached out and took it from her.
“Lasagna and peach cobbler,” she said. “The cobbler can sit out for a while, but the lasagna needs to go in the refrigerator.” She gave him quick instructions on how to heat it up for supper, then backed toward the door.
“Wait one minute,” Cole said, and he turned toward the back of the house and called the kids’ names, one at a time. They came running, smiling and laughing, their usual boisterous selves, but when they saw Lauren they skidded to a stop and their smiles died.
“We didn’t do anything!” Justin said indignantly.
“Yeah,” Hank agreed. “We’ve been playing video games and Meredith is reading some stupid book.”
Meredith didn’t say anything, but her eyes narrowed suspiciously.
Cole let them stew for a minute, then said, “Even though you broke Ms. Russell’s window and stomped all over her garden, she’s brought you supper. Lasagna and peach cobbler. What do you say?”
“I hate lasagna!” Justin said vehemently. “Yuck!”
Hank shuffled his feet and looked at the floor, and Meredith rolled her eyes in that maddening way young girls had. Twelve years old, and he could already see the woman she was going to become. Soon. That vision scared the crap out of him. He wasn’t ready for her to grow up, wasn’t ready for boyfriends and dates and short skirts and makeup. But like it or not, those things were coming.
“I was going to make chicken fingers for supper,” Meredith said.
Like frozen chicken strips could hold a candle to homemade lasagna—an observation he didn’t dare make out loud. “The chicken fingers can wait for another day. I want you all to thank Ms. Russell.” He gave them a glare his neighbor couldn’t see, since his back was to her. It was a rarely used glare that told the kids he was serious. He’d spoiled them for too long; he’d indulged them, trying to make up for the fact that he was all they had. Just last year he’d realized that he’d done that, and he was trying to undo the damage. It was a slow process.
Meredith was the first to speak. “Thank you, Ms. Russell.” Her chin was lifted a touch too high, which made her appear defiant even though her words were proper enough. Her eyes were anything but friendly.
Hank was antsy. The middle child was never still, unless he was sleeping. “I like lasagna,” he said, taking his eyes off the floor to peek up at their neighbor and give her a gentle, oddly charming, mostly toothless smile. “And I’m really tired of Meredith’s chicken fingers. Thanks.”
Justin, the stubborn one, sighed. “Thank you, Ms. Russell. For the peach cobbler.” The youngest—who would live on chicken strips