Nash was pretty sure that preparing dinner—admittedly with some assistance from his sous chefs, Percy and Grampy—qualified as an activity that didn’t put stress on his arm. It was so much easier to participate in activities like this when he didn’t have to worry about food or water splashes on the liner.
He was inordinately pleased by the impressed expression on Emmitt’s face at the sight of the platter containing the Mediterranean turkey cutlets and fettuccine he’d prepared. Once upon a time he’d have scoffed at the idea of himself relishing the role of house-husband, but over the years he’d evolved.
First, he’d realized he wanted to find his Mr. Right and settle down. He’d started to take an interest in helping out with meals when he’d moved in with Sam. Still, much as he’d been lookin
