“And what am I rescuing you from today?” asked Oliver, stirring his second pot of instant noodles.
“Mashed potatoes and meatballs!” replied Robert cheerfully.
“Again?” Oliver feigned a smile.
“Again!”
“We had those awful meatballs just last week! How many times can you eat them?”
“That’s exactly what I ask my wife, but she won’t listen! Fine, dig in!”
***
Simon, their new colleague, stared at them in confusion, baffled by Robert’s disdain for home-cooked meals. Oliver decided to explain.
“Thing is, Robert misses all that terrible food—instant noodles, pizza, pasties, the lot. His wife packs him proper meals every day to keep him eating right. So I rescue him. No point wasting food, is there? He eats my noodles, and I polish off whatever his wife’s made.”
“Is her cooking that bad?” asked Simon, unwrapping his microwaved sandwich.
“No, it’s not bad at all. Just… sometimes you don’t fancy meatballs, dumpling soup, or beef stew, you know?” Oliver grinned, cracking open Robert’s lunchbox. “So we help each other out—like mates do.”
“Why not just tell her to stop cooking for you? She’d probably be thrilled,” Simon remarked.
“Oh, Robert’s tried. She won’t hear of it!”
“And you’re happy to take the hit?”
“Why let good food go to waste?”
“If I had a wife who packed my lunches, I’d never give them away,” Simon mused between bites.
“What’s stopping you, then? Get married!”
“Haven’t met the right one yet.”
“You will,” Oliver clapped him on the shoulder. “You’re new in town, aren’t you? Plenty of lovely girls about.”
They finished their lunch and returned to work. All three were employed at the same furniture company, though in different roles. Robert headed sales, Oliver worked in assembly, and Simon had just started in the warehouse.
As if reading the future, Simon’s words came true that very evening when he met a striking woman in her early thirties at the supermarket. She stood on tiptoe, straining to reach a box of exotic pasta on the top shelf. Petite—barely over five feet—but undeniably pretty.
“Need a hand?” Simon offered gallantly. At six feet, he had no trouble with high shelves.
“I’d be ever so grateful!” The stranger smiled, and Simon felt the world tilt. Her smile was like a siren’s call, pulling him in. He wanted to stay in that moment forever, but as soon as she had the pasta, she was off, weaving through the aisles.
Shaking himself, he hurried after her.
“Making lasagne?” he asked casually.
“That’s the plan! My husband’s grown tired of my meatballs,” she laughed.
“I’m Simon, by the way.”
“Madeleine—but call me Maddie.”
Simon had forgotten all about his lunchtime conversation until now. “Seems a shame you’re running around shops for him. Doesn’t he appreciate the effort?”
“What do you mean? There’s nothing wrong with spoiling the man you love.”
“Heard an interesting story today—makes you wonder, doesn’t it?”
“What story?”
“A mate of mine’s been swapping his wife’s lunches with his best friend. She cooks, he gives it away, and lives off noodles instead. Hard to figure men out, isn’t it?”
“That’s outrageous! If I found out my husband did that, he’d be in for it!” Maddie huffed, indignant on behalf of all wronged wives.
“Robert’s in for a world of hurt if his wife ever finds out,” Simon agreed.
“Robert?” Maddie froze. “Where do you work, exactly?”
“Just moved here, actually. Got a job at the furniture factory on the south bank—warehouse work.”
Her face darkened as the pieces fell into place. Same company, same name, same sudden weight gain—no coincidence.
“That absolute rotter! So Oliver’s been eating his lunches while my husband stuffs himself with noodles!”
Simon winced. Of all the women in the city, she had to be Robert’s wife.
“Whoops,” he muttered, scrambling for an apology.
Maddie abandoned her trolley and stormed out, muttering under her breath. Simon chased after her, catching up just as she reached her car.
“You shouldn’t drive in this state,” he said firmly. “Come on—let me buy you coffee. Calm down first.”
She resisted, but he insisted.
Relenting, she followed him to the supermarket café. Simon ordered coffee and pastries—what else soothed a woman’s temper? To his relief, it worked.
As she nibbled a custard slice, Maddie cooled slightly, though the hurt lingered.
“That Oliver—what a piece of work! All this time, I’ve been cooking for *him*!”
“I’m sorry for spilling the beans,” Simon said sheepishly. “Please don’t rat me out. Robert’s management—he’ll sack me on the spot.”
“He won’t. I’ll think of a better revenge.”
“Thank you. Jobs don’t grow on trees these days.”
“I know. I looked forever before finding mine. And here I am, rushing to shops after work, slaving over the stove for hours—only for him to throw it away! I know I cook well!”
“Those meatballs smelled amazing today,” Simon admitted. “I’d never give them up.”
“Worst part? I *love* cooking. It’s no chore—it’s joy! But not for someone else’s husband.”
“Lucky him. I can barely fry an egg.”
“Nonsense! Anyone can learn if they try,” Maddie declared, stealing a bite of his pastry. “Want me to teach you?”
Simon should’ve refused. But the thought of her in his kitchen was too tempting.
“Yes. Start with the lasagne you wanted to make today?”
“Nothing to it—if you’ve got the right dishes.”
“Let’s go buy them. My flat’s bare—just a saucepan, a frying pan, and a few plates.”
“Do you have an oven?”
“Electric one. Will that do?”
“Perfect!” Grinning, she finished his pastry and stood.
***
Robert came home to a dark, silent flat. He checked every room—no sign of Maddie. Just as he reached for his phone, the door clicked open.
“Where’ve you been?” he asked. “Do you know the time?”
“Sorry, darling. A friend from work wanted lasagne lessons. I popped round to hers.”
“Lasagne?” Robert blinked—his favourite. Even Oliver never got his hands on Maddie’s lasagne.
“What’s for dinner?”
“Bought some ham. I’ll fry you eggs—you like those, don’t you?”
Robert frowned. Now he wanted lasagne.
“…Fine. I’ll wash up.”
Maddie looked smug, but he didn’t notice. She’d had a lovely evening with Simon—first splurging on cookware and ingredients, then cooking together at his place.
Not that anything untoward happened. She’d simply taught him to make lasagne. He’d followed her instructions meticulously, and they’d shared the delicious results. The leftovers went into a container for his lunch tomorrow.
She’d left straight after, wanting to beat Robert home but getting stuck in traffic.
After his ham and eggs, Robert dozed off in front of the telly. Usually, Maddie woke him when she went to bed—but not tonight. She was still cross.
Next morning, Robert sipped coffee and grabbed a chocolate muffin before heading out. Normally, Maddie handed him a lunchbox—but today, she sat applying lipstick as if nothing were amiss.
“Did you pack me anything?”
She blinked. “Oh! Sorry, love. Usually, there’s leftovers—but you won’t take cold eggs, will you? Try the canteen today.”
“…Right.” Puzzled, he left. No fuss over cat hair from their tabby, Whiskers. No goodbye kiss.
Odd. Must be work stress.
At lunch, Simon unpacked his lasagne without a second thought.
“Ditching the sandwiches?” Oliver teased.
“Feasting like a king today.”
“Takeaway?” Robert asked, mouth watering at the aroma.
“Made it myself. A friend taught me.”
“Blimey, making friends already?” Oliver clapped his back. “Though cooking’s not very manly.”
“Disagree. If it means eating like this, I’ll learn.”
“You need a wife!” Robert said.
“Yeah, so I can trade her cooking for noodles like you?” Simon joked.
Robert’s stomach growled. “Speaking of—Maddie’s on strike. No lunch today.”
“What’ll you eat?”
“The usual. Noodles.” But forEventually, Robert learned to appreciate Maddie’s cooking—and even started helping in the kitchen, proving that sometimes the best way to a man’s heart is through a well-cooked meal.
