“Derek,” I said. “My wife is a serial underwear thief. My sister-in-law tracks her lingerie with GPS. And I think the stain is marinara.”
The recipe in question? My grandmother’s pumpkin bread. Maya had made it for a family bake-off and won a silly golden whisk trophy. Chloe came in second. Chloe, according to Maya, had never forgiven her.
“Thanks,” Maya said. “It was a gift.”
My wife didn’t flinch. She was stirring a pot of lentil soup, her back to me. “What makes you think it’s Chloe’s?”
“You have a problem,” I said.
That’s when she told me about the Great Pumpkin Spice Incident of 2023.
“I started at Thanksgiving. The red pair was the first. She left her suitcase unlocked in the guest room. I just… took one. It made me feel powerful.”
The room temperature dropped ten degrees.
“I know,” she whispered.