Craving my mother's Hot Fiancé
If he was going to ignore me, I’d ignore him right back.
“Don’t use that close to the gas,” he said without looking up. “I don’t want you getting hurt.”
I paused, surprised he’d spoken. Then I noticed I was indeed sitting right next to the stove.
“Fine,” I muttered, setting the phone aside on the counter behind me.
I leaned over to peek into the pot, curiosity overriding my sulking.
“What are you making? It smells amazing.”
“Cacio e p**e.” His voice was calm, measured. “Your favorite, according to my father.”