A Word with the Bachelor by Teresa Southwick

help her with the dishes, then make love to her. Eventually have kids. It would be everything he’d never had and always wanted. What happened was the exact opposite of that and taught him life was a whole lot harder if you had dreams.
    â€œAre you okay, Jack?” She stood staring at him with the mitts still on her hands.
    â€œWhy?”
    â€œYou have the oddest look on your face.”
    â€œI’m good.” He’d believed those memories had no power over him anymore but obviously he was wrong. Something about Erin had stirred them up. Forewarned is forearmed and he shook them off. “What can I do to help?”
    â€œYou can open that bottle of wine if you want some.”
    â€œI’ll open it for you, but I’m more of a beer guy.”
    â€œOkay. Then you can handle beverages. I’d love a glass of chardonnay.”
    â€œOn it.”
    Jack did as requested and set a wineglass in front of her and got a longneck bottle for himself. In the middle of the table was a platter of golden fried chicken, macaroni and cheese still bubbling and slightly brown on top, green beans and a cloth-lined basket filled with fluffy, flaky buttermilk biscuits. “This looks good.”
    â€œSit down and dig in before it gets cold,” she advised.
    He’d never been quite so happy to follow an order and filled his plate. The chicken was crisp on the outside, tender and juicy in the middle. The mac and cheese was creamy and cheesy and a party in his mouth. And the biscuits? Holy mother of God—don’t even get him started on the awesome, warm wonderfulness.
    And that’s when Jack had an epiphany. He had an attitude and was aware of it. He took great pride in his attitude, nurtured and cultivated being aloof and sometimes abrasive if necessary. Or, as he liked to think of it, succinct. But his attitude just couldn’t stand up in the face of this feast.
    â€œErin, this is really good.”
    She smiled and the pleasure of his compliment glowed in her eyes. “I’m glad you like it.”
    â€œThis is pretty much the perfect meal in my opinion.”
    â€œI thought it might be.” She took a sip of wine.
    â€œWhy?”
    â€œWell, who doesn’t like fried chicken or macaroni and cheese?”
    â€œPlease tell me this isn’t about that stupid saying—the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach.”
    â€œOh, please, Jack. We both know you don’t have a heart.” She laughed. “This is about how hard you’ve been working. Night and day as far as I can tell. I just wanted to make you something good.”
    â€œMission accomplished. And you really nailed the menu.” He took another golden brown chicken leg from the platter and bit into it, barely holding back a groan of pleasure.
    â€œI’m no stranger to cooking for a man and tackling his taste buds.” She forked up a bite of green beans.
    â€œYour fiancé?”
    â€œYeah.” The glow in her eyes slipped some. “He battled cancer and had chemo and radiation. His appetite dropped off to almost nothing and he was a big guy. He needed calories in order to fight the disease and it didn’t matter whether or not they were the healthiest. Kale smoothies or chicken and dumplings. Which would tempt you more?”
    â€œThe second one. Hands down.”
    â€œThe sicker he got, the harder it was to get him to eat. Toward the end it took what felt like hours to get a meal into him.”
    â€œSounds like it was a tough time.”
    â€œYeah.” Then her perky hat fell off and she sighed. The sound was full of all the sadness and heartbreak she obviously had inside.
    Again Jack kicked himself for throwing sarcasm at her personal life that first day she’d shown up on his doorstep. “How long was he sick?”
    â€œThree years.”
    â€œA long time. And he proposed before the diagnosis?”
    â€œYeah.”
    â€œBut you never