The only light in the living room came from the log-effect gas fire and the TV, its sound on low. George and Harry sat on the sofa, shoulders touching. Trays with empty bowls, side plates, and mugs rested on the carpet.
George rubbed his stomach. “That was great. Where’d you learn to cook like that?”
“When you live on your own you either learn how to cook, or get fat and poor on eating out all the time, or starve.”
George chuckled.
“Tonight was just a simple casserole. I tossed everything in the slow cooker before going out to work.” It wasn’t quite as simple as that, but Harry hated blowing his own trumpet. “There’s some more if you want it.” He made to rise.
George put a hand on Harry’s knee. “No thanks. I couldn’t eat another thing.” He let out a quiet burp. “Sorry.”
Harry burped
