“No, Miranda.” I held up a hand to stop her. “You don’t have to cook meals or do anything for me.” “Oh.” Her gaze followed her son through the yard. “What if I want to? Might be fun to cook a little. It’s been so long.” “You don’t cook much anymore?” “Um, no. Chris liked eating out.” Everything I heard about that idiot made me hate him more. “Make yourself at home in the kitchen then. I won’t be the one to stop you.”
