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“No, I promised you food. I want to make it good.”

The corner of my lip twitched.

When men cooked for me, it automatically made them 10 percent more attractive—not that William needed the help. He was handsome. Tall, fit, a close-cropped beard. Maybe my age, late twenties. Very strongly my type.

“So where do you live?” I asked.

“Chicago. You?”

“Minneapolis.”

He browned the Spam and dropped the ramen into the water. Then he washed his hands and leaned against the counter while the noodles cooked.

“So tell me about her,” he said, crossing his arms.

The arm crossing made his muscles bulge in all the right places. He had those well-hydrated veins. I bet he rowed. Guys like this always rowed.

I forced myself to look at his face.

“Well,” I said. “She does a lot of volunteer work.”

“Like?”

“Like fostering rescue animals. She organized Make-A-Wish galas for a few years. She does a pad and tampon drive every year for local women’s shelters, works the voting booths.”

He looked impressed. “Okay.”

“She’s generous,” I said. “Smart. Too smart for what she’s doing right now.”

“I have to disagree. Anyone would be lucky to end up with Nick.”

Now I crossed my arms. “Okay. Tell me why.”

He shrugged. “Despite him being independently wealthy and emotionally intelligent? He does all the same things she does. A lot of volunteer work. Loves animals. Good relationship with his parents.”

I twisted my lips. “Huh. And are you the best man?” I asked.

“Against my will. Are you the maid of honor?”

“I haven’t decided yet. Also, I’m hoping she comes to her senses before it comes to that.”

“And if they don’t?” he said. “Come to their senses?”

“I’m praying for a Christmas miracle.”

He gave me a reluctantly amused smile.

He went back to the stove to finish my food. He cracked an egg into it and a minute later, he handed me the steaming bowl.

“Just in theory,” he said, washing the pot. “What would make you comfortable with the marriage?”

I shrugged. “Considering that she’s abandoning her source of income to be a trad wife? Money. If the tables were turned, what would you want for a client in her situation?”

“A structured schedule of financial support to compensate for lost wages.”

“Then that’s what I’d want. A structured schedule of financial support,” I said, blowing on a forkful of noodles and taking a bite. It was good. Really good.

He finished the dishes, dried his hands, and sat at the kitchen table. His dog put her head in his lap while he watched me eat, deep in thought.