Since he was a boy, Jack loved food. A warm meal made with dedication and love was the key to happiness. That's one of those invaluable things his momma has taught him. And Jack takes those precious lessons to heart. Even now as a grown-up living so far from his family, he still makes an effort to have heaping piles of homemade comfort food around as often as he can. There's little a cheesy and meaty casserole can not heal. Besides, third-day leftovers still make perfectly adequate sandwich fillings.
He's squirting ranch dressing on top of his spaghetti and bolognese sandwich when Elsa shows downstairs.
"Good morning," she politely greets, heels clicking on the wooden floor.
"Morning," he mumbles back. From the corner of his eyes, he can't help but stare. For when she's not in her workout garb or her gardening old frocks, Elsa dresses like a mix between a '50s pin-up girl and a librarian. All high-wasted mid-length skirts that sinch her waist and flare at her ankles paired up button-ups and earth-toned cardigans that would look disastrous on anyone else. Everything's very grandma chic… If Grandma was an extremely accomplished old Hollywood star back in her prime.
She goes to the fridge, then after a look inside, spins around, skirt swishing, and puts a hand on her hip. Goddamit, she's wearing red lipstick. "Did you touch my green juice?"
He swallows, making a noticeable effort to shift his eyes from her lips. He forces a frown onto his face and glares at her. "Do I look like I drink green juices?"
"No offense, but you look like you're not above eating food straight out of a garbage can."
He scoffs with a scowl. "Putting 'no offense' before a sentence doesn't automatically make whatever you say next sound any less offensive, you know."
She ignores him, and looking down at his plate of dripping deliciousness, asks, "What exactly are you eating? It's… very pungent."
"Breakfast sandwich," he says, face stuffed with carbs and tomato sauce.
The woman arches an eyebrow. "As in 'whatever container of food was available at the time stuffed between two slices of bread that you're consuming as your first meal of the day'?"
"Isn't that the definition of a breakfast sandwich?"
"Not exactly."
"Well, accuracy is overrated." He shrugs.
She frowns. "Well, that's not a concerning opinion at all."
"What's concerning here is that you think green juices are an acceptable breakfast option."
"I'm usually not very hungry in the morning," she justifies defensively and looks away with her lower lip between her teeth.
"That's because you've been lacking real food in your sad little life." He licks his thumb and points down at his half-eaten sandwich. "Want me to make you one of these?"
"I think I'll pass, thanks." She shakes her head and slowly backs out of the kitchen. When her eyes meet his, there's a hint of mischief there, or mockery, he's not sure which. "I should get going, but do enjoy your meal, Jackson."
"Just Jack is fine," he tersely grumbles back, though he doubts she catches it in her hurry to get out of the room.
He takes another bite, the pleasured moan that leaves his throat genuine, but a little exaggerated at the same time. Elsa's keys are already jiggling on the front door, but he still feels inclined to shout after her, "You don't know what you're missing!"
She's a lot bitchier and he's a lot softer this time...