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“I’ve been begging him to learn to cook something other than hash for months, and he decides to start with a whole Thanksgiving dinner,” Theo had told me the other day. “I was like, ‘wow, dude, that’s the dictionary definition of self-sabotage,’ but he’s determined, so. Uh. Maybe eat a big breakfast.”
I handed the phone back to Rhys and went upstairs to put on real clothes, since I’d walked Max in sweats. When I came down, Rhys had loaded the cider and pies and Max into the truck.
It was a cold, sunny day, and as we drove away, Max clambered onto my seat and I rolled the window down a couple of inches so he could smell the outdoors. I let him stay there, a comforting weight in my lap, and closed my eyes, letting the sweet smell of late autumn air, Rhys’s truck, and freshly washed dog drift around me.
I must’ve drifted off, because a warm kiss to my cheek woke me, and I found both Rhys and Max very close.
“Hey.”
“Hey, gorgeous. We’re here.” Rhys kissed me for real, and I wrapped an arm around his neck. Max let out a huff and flopped back down on my lap.
“Max totally wants to make out with us,” I said, and Rhys laughed and pushed my unruly hair behind my ear.
The door opened and Theo stuck his head out, calling, “Hey, guys! Come on in.” Then, when we got close, he whispered, silvery-blue eyes wide, “You didn’t bring any booze did you?”
“Of course not,” Rhys said, offended. We never drank around Caleb.
Theo’s face fell. “Dammit,” he said fervently. He took a deep breath, and Rhys and I exchanged a look. “Just. Don’t . . . uh . . . never mind.”
The second we stepped inside, I was hit with the smell of something burning.
I went to get Max settled in the living room while Rhys headed for the kitchen. I was filling Max’s food bowl when Rhys’s loud belly laugh rang out.
In the kitchen, Caleb was glaring at Rhys and Rhys was laughing so hard he couldn’t stop. Theo was leaning against the wall, shaking his head.
What I had smelled burning had clearly been the turkey, which Caleb had been cooking in pieces that looked like they’d been hacked apart with a machete. I wasn’t quite sure why that was so funny since I was pretty hungry, until I saw the counter. What was left, without the turkey, was a dish of mashed potatoes, a dish of fried onions and peppers—from the garden, no doubt—and a plate of deviled eggs.
When Rhys saw me he grabbed my hand and wheezed, “It’s hash. Everything he cooks turns to hash,” and bent over at the waist laughing so hard he was wiping away tears.
Theo was still shaking his head, but he was clearly trying not to laugh.
“It’s not hash!” Caleb insisted. “The deviled eggs are an appetizer!”
Rhys howled with laughter and I pushed him out of the kitchen.
“Do you want me to go . . . uh, buy something?” I asked.
Caleb glared at me.
Theo eased between us.
“Aw, come on, it’s fine! Here, we still have the stuffing to make.” He held up a bag of Stove Top stuffing. “And the deviled eggs, potatoes, veggies. You guys brought pie. It’s great.” He tugged Caleb’s sleeve and slid a hand from his stomach up his chest. “Babe, it’s gonna be fine.”
Caleb sighed and relaxed. “Sorry,” he said, gesturing at the stove.
“Hey, maybe we can salvage some of it,” Theo said. He used a fork to pull the skin off a few pieces of turkey, revealing that some of it was okay. “Here, I’ll do this. You do the stuffing.”
Caleb did as he said, and I poured us some cider. Rhys crept back into the room and dropped his arm around my shoulders.
“Why’d you cook it like that anyway, man?” he asked Caleb.
Caleb sighed. “I thought it’d cook faster this way. We, uh, got kind of a late start this morning.” His eyes flicked toward Theo, and Theo studiously avoided eye contact with any of us, but when he moved to get a plate I saw that his long hair covered a livid hickey on the side of his neck.
After another hour of mucking around in the kitchen, we sat down to eat. The food actually looked pretty good. Rhys heaped his plate with mashed potatoes, piled stuffing and veggies on top of the potatoes, put some chunks of turkey on top of that, drenched the whole thing in gravy, and balanced two deviled eggs on top.
He plastered an innocent expression on his face, cleared his throat, and said, “I just want to say how thankful I am for this delicious Thanksgiving hash—”
Caleb shoved him, and Rhys started cracking up again. Then Caleb looked at Rhys’s plate and slowly shook his head, expression completely unamused.
