Page 117 of Hunted, Season Three

“I can’t believe you’re really doing this,” our pregnant wife gushes at the same time she grabs another pinch of fresh grated mozzarella from the bowl Nolan is currently collecting it in.

“I can’t believe you’re gonna eat the whole fuckin’ block of cheese before it makes it into the dish,” our husband unhappily huffs.

“Don’t food shame me, Mutt,” Bunny sasses on another bite, “or you won’t be gettinganytype of dessert after dinner.”

“Or cheese in my pasta,” he lightly laughs before moving the bowl a couple inches over.

“I wanted our firstofficialmeal in our new home to be special,” I announce while pouring the lasagna noodles into the strainer currently occupying our sink.

Like our minivan, this house took forever to perfect.

And also like our minivan, it’s fucking perfect.

We’re talkin’ top of the line model perfect.

Bugatti meets Rolls Royce shit.

Nolan decided a modern, industrial mesh for us was the best call, and he was right.

How he managed to capture the feeling of being in the garage yet at home with just enough built from the ground up touches is remarkable.

We picked out all the important pieces together – bathroom shit, kitchen shit, lights, ect– Bunnydid most of the actual decorating for everywhereexceptthe nursey.

She let us have that to ourselves.

On the undercarriage?

I think she didn’t wanna have to battle the car theme we already had in mind.

Probably didn’t help thatmostof our little man’s gifts from his baby shower – that Val, Eva, and Posie hosted together at her place here in town – were all car-themed.

But it’sourlittle guy.

Of course, he’s gonna be introduced into the world of cars from birth.

Erm.

Frombeforebirth.

Bunny lets me put headphones on her stomach daily to play him classical music.

I just also happen tooccasionallyslip in some gear shifting noises too.

He likes them.

I think.

He always kicks more during them.

It’s a weird fucking feeling.

I like it though.

Like feeling the rumble of a roided up engine.

“What can I do?”she politely inquires during my shaking to ensure all the noodles are loose.

“You can stop eatin’ the fuckin’ cheese for one,” Nolan grumps prior to moving the bowl again.“I didn’t buy extra.”

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