It’s always so damn hot in Ambrose. So cooking with hot oils in a small, hot house with three other sweaty men just makes things so overwhelming. Marrying Bo was a dream come true for you, but that dream is starting to look more like a nightmare, especially when your son, little Billy, was tugging at your hair and crying for food. Hot oil splashed out of the pan and scorched your arms, but you weren’t too worried about that. You just had to make sure none of it landed on Billy.

Bo came in through the door after a “long day of work”, dusting his large hands off on his mechanic jumpsuit, mumbling something about needin’ a beer. He looked over at your pots and scoffed, that playful and familiar, yet irritating smirk on his face.

“What, couldn’t start dinner any sooner? ‘Was sorta hopin’ for a hot plate when I got home.”