“Oh shoot,” I told Mike as he walked into the kitchen from the garage after work one day. “I forgot to preheat the oven.”
“That’s okay,” he said with a smile. “I’m not very hungry yet.”
“Oh,” I moaned, “I just splashed soapy water all over my shirt.”
“At least it was clean,” he said. I rolled my eyes and sighed as I began trimming broccoli.
“Why don’t you sit down and let me finish cooking,” he suggested, taking the knife out of my hand and turning me in the direction of kitchen table. “How was your day at work?”
“Long and tedious,” I complained as Mike put some graham crackers on the table in front of me. “I didn’t get done with even half of what I need to do. I’ll have to go in early tomorrow.” I grumbled, finishing the first graham cracker and reaching for another one.
“That’s too bad,” he answered.
“Hey, why am I eating graham crackers?” I asked, suddenly realizing what I was doing.
Mike quickly looked away, uncharacteristically quiet and suddenly busy scrubbing the already clean counter.
“Did you give me food because you thought I was acting grumpy?” I narrowed my eyes and stared at him.
“No,” he said timidly. “You were just a little pre-happy.”
He knows me well.
Maybe too well.