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The ceiling was high and had an occasional skylight. The kitchen was the size of a restaurant kitchen. The common area had five couches. There was no wall behind the couches to separate the room, but behind the couches were the dining tables. There were three of them, a dark solid wood with matching chairs. “Elyse, could you come in here and help me quick?” I heard Khloe shout from the kitchen. I walked in and couldn’t help but smile. She was always biting off more than she could chew. I pulled the darkening slices of bread out of the oven and stirred the noodles. Spaghetti. The smell was intoxicating. Khloe was an amazing cook. It was no wonder all the men loved her. She was also amazing to look at. She was about the same size as me, although she had less muscle and more cleavage. She always wore an upcycled tank-top version of her husband’s worn out flannels and either a left over material skirt or short pants. It was amazing what she could do with her sewing machine. The men had.

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