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It’s almost too hard to stay mad at him for making a mess.
Almost.
My nose wrinkles at the mess before me. I get to work, sweeping up all of the cat litter. It’s a fine sand-like litter, expensive, but a bag lasts a lot longer than one would think it does. And the best part, there’s no smelly cat-waste smell. Seriously. I love it. Until I have to clean up a mess like this.
“Move it, buster.” I wiggle my fingers in front of Stanley, his whiskers twitching as I do. He’s on my desk, batting at my fingers as I move the mouse back and forth. “Hey, I have to pay bills; you’re not making this an easy task.” I release it long enough to scoop him up. He goes limp as soon as I do. I lay him over my shoulder, my left hand scratching his back as I go back to what I’d been doing.
This cat has a purr that is tiger-sized. The rumble is soothing. I rest my head against him as I finish. With the receipt saved to my laptop, I sit back and reposition the big cat. His eyes close as I rub his belly.
“You’re spoiled rotten. You know that?”
I only have myself to blame for that.
My phone buzzes with an incoming message from Dean.
Dean: Heading home. Do we need anything?
Ness: No, we’re good. Dinner is in the crockpot.
Dean: See you in fifteen then.
Ness: Be safe. Love you!
Dean: Love you more.
Smiling, I get up from the chair and go into the living room. I plop Stanley on the couch, on his blanket, and pad off into the kitchen. I wash my hands and arms, then move to the opposite counter. It’s a hot day today, so I hadn’t felt like turning on the stove. The crock pot is a total life-saver in the summer.
I open the lid and inhale the scent of the cheesy chicken taco mix. Once the chicken breasts were cooked, I’ll shred them. I’d added a pack of taco seasoning, cream cheese, mild cheddar, and a little sour cream. Add this to flour tortillas and you have a meal fit for a king. Or for us at least. It’s a favorite for sure. Tomorrow’s dinner is already put together and in the fridge. I’ll add it to the crockpot in the morning and let it cook on low all day. By the time we get home, it will be ready. Pot roast with potatoes and carrots. With a side of rice and butter beans.
My stomach takes that moment to growl, loudly. Snorting, amused with myself, I head to the cabinet and pull down plates. I have the silverware on the counter with the glasses already. I’m no Suzy homemaker, but I passed the test, I guess. Dean doesn’t complain.
We don’t share normal home roles. I’m not the cleaner, washer, or floor scrubber. Though I do those things, he does as well. We share everything. I do most of the cooking during the week because I get home well before he does. He may not have classes every afternoon, but as a professor, he has open office hours for the kids that need help or more understanding of his course. Faculty meetings. Phone calls to make, papers to grade, projects to look over. The sky's the limit there.
My schedule is a little more lax than that. I usually go off by 4:00 pm or 4:30 pm. That means I’m home and ready to do what needs to be done by 5:00 pm. If that means I’m making dinner or finishing up what’s left after the crockpot cooks it, then so be it. We both have to eat, so why not?
On the weekends, Dean takes over the kitchen. That means I get a hot breakfast, we usually snack for lunch or go out, and then he will pull out the grill for dinner time.
If you can find a man who can cook, and I mean can cook, then you are one lucky, lucky person. Especially when he wears an apron that says “Kiss the Cook & Pass the Bacon.”
I’d found it in a thrift shop a few years ago and couldn’t not get it for him. He’s a good sport and always wears it, sans a shirt so…even better.
Especially when the sun is bright in the sky and he glistens. Oh yeah, the man’s not shy about showing off the muscles he works hard to maintain.
My favorite part of the year are the nights where it isn’t hotter than Satan’s ball sack, so we can sit out on the covered, screened-in porch and enjoy the sounds of nature. Watch the sun go down from the swing and cuddle. The stars are always so much brighter out here where there are no buildings to hide the view.
I have the table set, the plates ready to be fixed, and the crockpot turned off by the time he comes in the back door.
“You won’t believe what I?—”
He stops in the doorway and tilts his head in my direction.
I turn, raising a brow at the look on his face. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. Absolutely nothing.”
I look down at myself. Oh yeah. After my shower earlier, I’d tossed on one of his t-shirts and a pair of underwear but nothing else. It’s hot, and I just didn’t care. I’m going anywhere else nor am I expecting anyone to drop by.
“If you want to clean up, dinner is ready.”
