Husband For Rent
The container promptly fell, landing on the counter with a splat.
I couldn’t help it—I burst out laughing. “Smooth move, Ninja.”
He shrugged, unbothered. “Sometimes you have to sacrifice for art.”
“Art?” I repeated, raising an eyebrow.
“Cooking is art,” he said, gesturing dramatically with the wooden spoon.
I snorted. “Then what’s in the pot, Picasso?”
“Mac and cheese,” he said proudly.
I rolled my eyes, grabbing plates from the cabinet. “Truly a masterpiece.”