The sounds warmed the kitchen even more than the steam pouring out of the top. The next burner over, a skillet sizzled and cracked with brick red sausage. The oven groaned underneath as it heated some biscuits to perfection. I clutched my ladle, shut my eyes and breathed it in like a flowery meadow. But no flowers smelled as good as a great meal. “You mind if I add protein powder directly to my bowl?” Sean asked. He sat at the dinner table nearby. We weren’t going out, but he’d still changed out of his gym stuff into dark pleats and a button-down. He looked suave as hell, but still nowhere near enough to tolerate what he’d just said. “Are you nuts?” I shot at him. “You can’t just change the consistency of the soup and call it the same.” “The powder doesn’t make it thick. I drink it in milk all the time.” “Then just do that now.
