26 KentKent had changed from his uniform to jeans and a long-sleeved T-shirt, emptied his laundry basket into the washer on the lower level of his log house, and shoved the remains of a take-out carton of chili into the microwave. He beeped the buttons to start it nuking.
A spicy Tex-Mex odor grew stronger as his dinner heated. He yanked open the fridge, removed sour cream and salsa, reached back inside for a locally brewed IPA, and spread his harvest across the butcher block counter top.
Another beep signaled his food was hot and he added steaming chili to the array. A beautiful sight and it smelled damn good, too. After his divorce, he’d discovered grazing at the counter suited him far better than his ex-wife’s fancy meals and rigid rules. He savored a forkful of chili, washed it down
