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“I’m a survivor.” She shrugged.
“Even that bag of chips is expired.”
“I prefer the term ‘aged.’ Besides, it has a delightful mustiness. The discount grocery store is too good to pass up.”
She turned off the TV, tossed the bag to the side, and brushed the crumbs off her legs. Without another word, she disappeared into her bedroom.
Lucky her.
She had home-field advantage in Siberia. He didn’t even have a damn jacket.
He crossed to open the fridge, but as his hand reached the handle, he decided he could use a break from the emotional upheaval. Instead, he’d survey his utensils. That couldn’t be so bad.
He pulled open a small drawer beside the stove. Where he had expected metallic jingling, he was greeted with the scraping of plastic utensils trying to escape the crowded compartment.
Not a great start.
In the drawer, he found a replica of a wiener dog with a slicing compartment that cut hot dogs once they were inserted into the puppy’s body.
And the hot dog slicer was the least of the peculiarities. Somehow, Avery had also come to own an ice cream scooper sporting a handle covered with sprinkles, an object that looked like a plastic shiv with the words “cookie hook” emblazoned across the long-pointed handle, and an item which promised to separate egg yolks from egg whites.
He slammed the drawer shut and leaned against the countertop, trying to configure a plan, but nothing other than Dorito sorbet came to mind.
There was nowhere left to go but the refrigerator of doom, and he wasn’t sure his heart (or his stomach) could handle it.
Luckily, Avery interrupted his plans.
She stepped out of her bedroom wearing nylon stockings and tall white pumps. Nothing to complain about for sure, but the rest of the outfit? Well, he wasn’t sure whether to laugh or to tell her how completely beautiful she looked.
Either way, he knew he’d better take a picture, because there was no way she’d ever dress that way again.
She was wearing a baby-blue dress with chocolate-brown polka dots. The cut of the dress was like something out of the fifties, and her thick blond hair was nestled at the base of her neck in an elegant knot. But the pièce de résistance? The thin string of pearls circling her throat.
“Where’s the bridge game?”
She stuck out her tongue and reached down to fluff her skirt. Then she bent over, and he realized that even if the style of the dress was old-fashioned, it sure didn’t do anything to make her ample cleavage any more modest.
“I look nice.” She half smiled as she leaned against the table, glancing toward the crooked clock above her stove. Ten more minutes until the showdown.
“Nobody said you didn’t.” Nope. That was the furthest thing from his mind. At that moment, all he wanted to do was make sure she made the best damn meal on the planet so that he could get a look underneath that skirt…
“I thought if I’m going to play house, I may as well rock the hell out of it.”
“What exactly do you think a relationship is? Do you think you’d have to fetch my slippers every night or something?”
She shrugged. “And stoke your pipe, that kind of thing.”
“Don’t you already do that?”
She hit him, but it didn’t stop him from smiling at the way her nose wrinkled when she was angry. Like a ferocious kitten. A ferocious kitten who could kick him in the balls at any time.
“You know this is ridiculous, right?” he asked, looking her up and down as she opened up the expired gallon of water that was sitting on the table.
“We’ll see who’s ridiculous when I’m crowned the winner, fool. It’s six o’clock. Let’s get this party started.” She kicked off her heels and sifted through the pile of groceries on the table. He was too afraid to search for specifics. Instead, he reached into his pocket to double-check for his phone. Yep. Still there.
“Hey, I’m going to use the bathroom, okay?” He began to inch himself out of the room, but Avery blocked him in a whirl of fabric.
“That’s hardly the most competitive move, ace.”
