Page 235 of The Bonus

“Are you ready to be waited on hand and foot, my dear Gracie?” I ask.

“Let’s just try and survive, shall we?”

“What are you talking about, I’ve got this in the bag.” I get out of the car and go around to her side. This is a piece of cake.

Not a drill, I do have this in the bag. Unbeknownst to Grace, Mark has already cooked us dinner and it’s in the fridge waiting for me to heat up. I had too many meetings and didn’t have time today.

I reach in and lift Gracie out of the car, she’s torn the ligaments on her left foot as well as broken her left wrist, her hand and forearm are in plaster. It’s a bit of a nightmare, she can’t walk on her foot but then can’t use crutches because of her hand. For the next few weeks, she needs to be carried around…not that I’m complaining. I’ll take any excuse to pick her up and hold her in my arms.

I carry her in through the front door. “Home sweet home, babes.” I look around. “Where do you want to sit?”

“On the couch?”

I gently put her down. “Here you go.”

“Thank you.”

“Watch something.” I hand her the remote. “I’ll grab your stuff out of the car.”

This is my chance to show her how great I am around the house, she’s going to be madly in love with me very soon, I’m going to make sure of it.

I race out to the car and grab her things and a large plastic bag of medication. Her wrist is giving her grief and aching at night, the hospital gave me strict instructions that she is to have medication every four hours. I’m going to set my alarm so I keep on top of it.

I walk back in and take her bags upstairs and straighten up the quilt. I unpack her bag and take the things down to the laundry and throw everything in the washing machine and turn it on.

I’m nailing this domestic shit to the wall.

My phone beeps a text, it’s from Mark.

Put the stroganoff into the oven on 325.

I reply.

On it

I walk back out through the living room. She’s snuggled up with the kids on either side of her. “You okay, Gracie?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Good, I’m just going to throw some dinner together.”

A frown flashes across her face. “You’re cooking.”

“Yes,” I reply casually. “Of course I’m cooking, I thought you would want a home-cooked meal?”

“Oh.” She smiles, impressed. “I do.”

Ha!

She’s half in love with me already.

I go into the kitchen and carefully take the pre-prepared beef stroganoff out of the fridge and put it into the oven. I turn the dial on to 325 and hold my breath as the light goes on.

It’s working… Yes!

“What are you cooking?” she calls.

“An old family recipe, beef stroganoff,” I call. “You’ll love it.”

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