It’s only two weeks, it’s only two weeks, it’s only—
“What’s all that for?”
Duke is pointing at the cake ingredients on the stove: mixing bowl, flour, measuring cups.
“I was going to bake a batch of cookies—but I thought I’d have more time before you got here.”
“You should have done it last night,” he tells me, snatching up the container of chocolate chips and popping it open. Taking a handful, he shoves them in his giant mouth.
I swear I’m not a prude, but I have five- and six-year-old children with better behaviors than this boorish brute!
Duke chews.
Then he pops more chocolate chips in his mouth before licking his lips. “These would be better if they were in cookies.”
“No shit, Sherlock,” I mutter, turning my back on him so I’m not tempted to tear them out of his hands.
“What’d you just say?”
“Nothing,” I lie.
Duke laughs. “Liar. I can see from here your panties are all bundled into a twist.”
“They most certainly are not.”
He laughs again, setting down my precious container of chocolate chips. “You’re such a kindergarten teacher.”
What the heck is that supposed to mean?!
Duke disappears out the back door. I have no idea where he’s going, nor do I follow him—but I watch as he wanders around the perimeter before he walks out of view.
Hmph.
I take myself back upstairs. I’d planned a nice meal for Duke and me tonight—homemade pizza with homemade sauce, pepperoni, sausage, black olives, and extra cheese—but that was before he waltzed into my home acting like a fool.
He can forage for his own food.
In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if Grizzly Adams came back inside with a raccoon or a skunk for dinner, one he’d wrestled to the ground himself.
I’m a nice person.
My friends have literally described me as sweet, kind, and one of the most compassionate people they know. So why is it that I want to choke that man to death, who has only been in my house for less than a half hour?
And how am I going to tolerate his bad behavior for two weeks?
“It’s a good thing you’ll be at work during the day,” I remind myself, heading back upstairs to my office and shutting the door behind me, not that it’s going to keep Duke out if he wants back inside.
Rude.
So. Rude.
I dial up Molly, and it rings three times before she answers. “Thank God you picked up,” I breathe.
“Is everything okay?”
“Yes.” No. “Duke is here.”
My statement is followed by silence. “And? How’s it going?”