Page 15 of Four-ever Single

I finished cleaning the kitchen and pulled the ground beef out of the fridge so I could start dinner. There were few things I could actually cook, and thankfully, tacos were one of them. I had yet to ruin those, so I grabbed a skillet and started cooking the meat while I fetched a seasoning packet out of the cabinet. I tore it open and dumped it into the pan on top of the meat while using the spatula to break it into smaller pieces.

A few minutes later, the door opened, and voices carried down the hallway as the guys headed toward the kitchen.

“What’s that smell?” Capshaw asked as he came in, looking over my shoulder.

“I’m making tacos for dinner.”

I stirred the meat around a few more times before reaching for the seasoning packet to throw away. Before I could grab it, Capshaw’s hand darted out and got it first, a smirk gracing his lips as he looked at it.

“What’s that look for?” I asked, cocking my head while scowling.

“What did you say you were making?” he asked, holding the package up for the guys gathered behind him to read.

“Tacos. Why? Do you suddenly have a problem with them?”

“No,” he insisted, shaking his head as his lips curled into a smile. “I don’t have a problem with tacos. We all know I love tacos. But, I do have a problem with whatever that is you’re making.”

He nodded to the pan and slapped the packet against my chest, patting my shoulder a few times before walking off and sitting at the long dining table with the guys as he chuckled. I pulled it down and frowned when I saw what it was. Instead of grabbing the packet for taco seasoning, I had grabbed a brown gravy one.

“Shit,” I muttered, tossing my head back and closing my eyes. “How do I fix this?”

“You can’t. That’s why I don’t use packets, my friend. All of my seasoning comes from the heart,” Rodriguez said, patting his chest.

“Or whatever your wife tells you to make,” Nate said, sitting at the head of the table.

“That too,” Rodriguez conceded, joining them. “But she never steers me wrong. That’s why we’ve been married for so long.”

“Either that, or she just thinks it’s too much work to divorce you,” Capshaw teased, ducking when Rodriguez tossed something at his head.

I grabbed my phone out of my pocket, found the number I was looking for, and pressed the call button.

“What did you burn this time?” Dylan asked.

He’d been my friend long enough to know this about me. Hell, it seemed to be the only thing people knew about me.

“Nothing, but I’m about to,” I admitted, turning the heat down on the meat. “Umm. I hate to bug you, but is Calli there by chance? I have a cooking-related question.”

“Yeah, hold on.”

I pulled the phone away from my ear as the background noise got louder. Finally, it stopped and Calli came on the line.

“Hey, Jones. What’s up?” Calli was one of the nicest people I had ever met—though technically, we had yet to meet since she lived across the country in Montana with my friend Dylan. Still, she was always willing to help me with cooking-related dilemmas—which I tended to have a lot of.

“I was trying to make tacos,” I started, letting out a heavy sigh.

“Did you forget to take the liner from the meat package out again?”

“No, I remembered to do that. This time, I grabbed the wrong seasoning packet, and instead of putting taco seasoning in, I added a packet of brown gravy.”

“Oh my,” she whispered with a giggle.

“I know, I know. What are my options? Is there any way to save this?”

“You can turn it into beef stroganoff,” she suggested. “You’ll need some egg noodles, sour cream, and cream of mushroom soup, as well as some seasonings. Do you have the other stuff?”

“Hold on, let me check.”

I rested the phone between my ear and shoulder as I checked the pantry. I grabbed the items she asked for, struggling to hold everything in my hands as she continued to give me directions over the phone. I set everything on the counter and felt the tension in my neck when I realized how much was going to be required to pull this meal off after all.

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