CHAPTER FIVE MYSTERY INGREDIENT
After all of Nancy’s snide comments about the fact that I rarely cooked, I decided to go all out and make a big Sunday lunch for Scooter and me. While I was in the kitchen mashing up some potatoes, my husband wrapped his arms around my waist and nuzzled my neck.
“I see sour cream, butter, bacon bits, and shredded cheese on the counter,” he said. “Does that mean what I think it means?”
“How do twice-baked potatoes sound?”
“That sounds great,” he said. “But what did I do to deserve them?”
“By not buying those ridiculous multipurpose tools yesterday. Your self-control was awe-inspiring.”
“But that was just because you had the credit card in your purse,” he said as he tried to peek in the oven.
“Hey, stay out of there.”
“It smells good. What is it?”
“Yo
