Read Online Life After Wife by Carolyn Brown - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Carolyn Brown
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covered them with brown sugar and cinnamon. In a few more minutes, there was a pan of fresh cinnamon rolls on the back of the stove rising for the final baking step.
Elijah pretended he didn’t care and didn’t even know what she was preparing, but the first waft of that bread dough sitting near the warm oven made his mouth water. He dearly loved home-baked bread, and cinnamon rolls were his favorite dessert. But he would eat sawdust and wash it down with sewer water before he admitted that to her.
He boiled spaghetti and continued to stir his sauce.
She picked up one of those fat romance books with a woman draped over a bed and a bare-chested man merely inches from her lips pictured on the front. She propped her legs up on a chair and read while she waited for the lasagna to cook.
He’d tried to watch what she whipped up to go in her dish but had almost burned his sauce, so he didn’t see what she’d added to the cream cheese, sour cream, and cottage cheese for the third layer. She’d put down several spoons of a sauce she’d made in ten minutes by browning hamburger with onions and peppers and adding a jar of prepared spaghetti sauce. Then she’d layered lasagna noodles on top of that. Uncooked ones. He’d never seen it done that way and wondered what the finished product would taste like. After that it was the white mixture. He thought he heard her cracking eggs, but surely not.
The timer sounded loudly. He drained the spaghetti noodles and poured them into a dish. He loaded up a plate and topped them off with a healthy serving of the sauce and carried the whole thing to the den where he put it on a wooden folding tray. A trip back to the kitchen netted a Dr Pepper from the refrigerator.
She looked up when he walked past. “Where’d you get that?’
“Bought it.”
“Where?”
“At the store?”
“When did you go to the store? I had a list started of things we need for the house,” she said.
“You need something. You pick it up. I needed Dr Pepper.”
“Be careful there…” She bit back the word “chief” before it was out in the room. “I bought the last toilet paper. I could take it all to my bedroom and carry a roll with me to the bathroom. I don’t have to share it.”
“I don’t plan to go into your bathroom. You stay out of mine. I’ll buy my own paper.”
“Good. I’ll be nice enough to leave what’s left on the roll for you. After that don’t you dare steal a single roll out of my bathroom. Better get to that famous spaghetti. It’s going to get cold,” she said.
It took a healthy dose of his willpower to let her have the last word, but he managed to do it without choking on the unsaid words. He ate slowly and enjoyed every bite. When he finished, he washed his dishes, put the sauce in jars, stored them in the refrigerator for later, and meandered out the back door as slowly as he could.
She watched from the kitchen window and waited until he was halfway to the barn before she took out a jar of his sauce and dipped a spoon into it.
When it hit her mouth she moaned. “Mercy, that’s the best sauce I’ve ever eaten. Why does he have to be such a rat and not share with me?” She ate two more bites and then put the lid on the jar with a long sigh.
Her bread turned out perfect. Light. Fluffy. Browned to perfection. She buttered the tops and turned the cinnamon rolls upside down on a serving tray before topping them off with a thin butter cream glaze. Then she turned on every ceiling fan in the house and opened his bedroom door. If he hated yeast dough, he’d have to live with the odor. If he loved it, she hoped he couldn’t think about anything else.
She cut up a salad and dished up a healthy plate full of lasagna, added a roll on the side and a cinnamon roll on a separate plate, and carried it all out to the deck. The sun was setting, and the temperature had dropped a few degrees since she’d come back from Fancy’s place.
Elijah was sitting in the hayloft,
Elijah pretended he didn’t care and didn’t even know what she was preparing, but the first waft of that bread dough sitting near the warm oven made his mouth water. He dearly loved home-baked bread, and cinnamon rolls were his favorite dessert. But he would eat sawdust and wash it down with sewer water before he admitted that to her.
He boiled spaghetti and continued to stir his sauce.
She picked up one of those fat romance books with a woman draped over a bed and a bare-chested man merely inches from her lips pictured on the front. She propped her legs up on a chair and read while she waited for the lasagna to cook.
He’d tried to watch what she whipped up to go in her dish but had almost burned his sauce, so he didn’t see what she’d added to the cream cheese, sour cream, and cottage cheese for the third layer. She’d put down several spoons of a sauce she’d made in ten minutes by browning hamburger with onions and peppers and adding a jar of prepared spaghetti sauce. Then she’d layered lasagna noodles on top of that. Uncooked ones. He’d never seen it done that way and wondered what the finished product would taste like. After that it was the white mixture. He thought he heard her cracking eggs, but surely not.
The timer sounded loudly. He drained the spaghetti noodles and poured them into a dish. He loaded up a plate and topped them off with a healthy serving of the sauce and carried the whole thing to the den where he put it on a wooden folding tray. A trip back to the kitchen netted a Dr Pepper from the refrigerator.
She looked up when he walked past. “Where’d you get that?’
“Bought it.”
“Where?”
“At the store?”
“When did you go to the store? I had a list started of things we need for the house,” she said.
“You need something. You pick it up. I needed Dr Pepper.”
“Be careful there…” She bit back the word “chief” before it was out in the room. “I bought the last toilet paper. I could take it all to my bedroom and carry a roll with me to the bathroom. I don’t have to share it.”
“I don’t plan to go into your bathroom. You stay out of mine. I’ll buy my own paper.”
“Good. I’ll be nice enough to leave what’s left on the roll for you. After that don’t you dare steal a single roll out of my bathroom. Better get to that famous spaghetti. It’s going to get cold,” she said.
It took a healthy dose of his willpower to let her have the last word, but he managed to do it without choking on the unsaid words. He ate slowly and enjoyed every bite. When he finished, he washed his dishes, put the sauce in jars, stored them in the refrigerator for later, and meandered out the back door as slowly as he could.
She watched from the kitchen window and waited until he was halfway to the barn before she took out a jar of his sauce and dipped a spoon into it.
When it hit her mouth she moaned. “Mercy, that’s the best sauce I’ve ever eaten. Why does he have to be such a rat and not share with me?” She ate two more bites and then put the lid on the jar with a long sigh.
Her bread turned out perfect. Light. Fluffy. Browned to perfection. She buttered the tops and turned the cinnamon rolls upside down on a serving tray before topping them off with a thin butter cream glaze. Then she turned on every ceiling fan in the house and opened his bedroom door. If he hated yeast dough, he’d have to live with the odor. If he loved it, she hoped he couldn’t think about anything else.
She cut up a salad and dished up a healthy plate full of lasagna, added a roll on the side and a cinnamon roll on a separate plate, and carried it all out to the deck. The sun was setting, and the temperature had dropped a few degrees since she’d come back from Fancy’s place.
Elijah was sitting in the hayloft,
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