The sauce had to be perfect, Hilda would not accept otherwise.

She would like to say that it was her mother's recipe, or some other form of familial authenticity that would give it ageless credential, but the truth was that she'd stumbled upon this particular combination by accident when she and Albert had first come to the United States and she'd been determined to add American dishes to their diet. By the name alone she'd first mistaken it for Italian, and didn't that just sum up American food in general. Always disguised as something else if you couldn't eat it at a ball game. She gave the sauce another taste and went to add the chicken she'd diced earlier.

A hand wandered into her field of vision and reached for the spoon. Hilda gave it a good slap.

"Ow," Albert whined, retracting his hand, "What was that for?"

"No tasting the food before it's done," Hilda said firmly.

"You just did."

"I'm the chef."

"But I'm hungry," Albert then made the saddest face he could manage which, Hilda had to admit, was pretty potent.

"You can wait." She turned away from him and tried to ignore how close he'd moved into her space, almost pressing against her.

"Come on, just a nibble," Albert whispered, his lips brushing against her neck.

The front door at the other end of the house opened and slammed shut. Albert's shoulders slumped and he groaned in disappointment.

"Boots off," Hilda said.

"Boots off!" Albert shouted loud enough for their noisy tenant to hear.

"Boots off!" Jet echoed, followed by the muffled thump of heavy, wet boots being cast aside. The Heinrichs weren't normally so insistent on the removal of shoes before entering their home, but Jet had the habit of cutting through the park on his way back and it had been raining the last several days. Mud on the floor was something Albert did not tolerate.

Jet poked his head in the kitchen entryway, still wearing his rain gear with the exception of the boots. He held up a plastic bag.

"I got the eggs for you, Hilda."

"Thank you, sweetie. It's nice that someone helps with the groceries around here."

"I forgot once," Albert groused, leaning against the counter, "You're home late, Jet, where've you been?"

"Getting eggs," Jet said slowly as he slid the carton into the fridge. At Albert's exasperated glare he shrugged. "Around. First I was there," he pointed west, "then I was over there," he pointed east, "and now I'm here."

"So informative."

"That's me, mister information." Jet paused and took a few sniffs, his long nose in the air, "Is that…Is that chicken tetrazzini?"

Hilda smiled at him, "It is."

Jet peered over her shoulder, "Oh wow, that looks great!"

"Good, I'm making it for you so you'd better like it."

Hilda yelped as Jet wrapped his arms around her waist from behind and spun her. "Hildaaa you are wonderful! Ditch that loser and run away with me!"

"What? To the room you rent in our attic?"

"I was thinking somewhere more exotic but whatever you want, babe."

Albert sighed. "Knock it off, Jet. You make her too dizzy and she won't finish dinner."

Jet chuckled and set Hilda back on her feet, leaning down to whisper in her ear, "Look at him, no sense of fun. You deserve better. He's old and stuffy."

"And you're young and sexually inexperienced," Albert said with a smirk.

Jet snorted, "Yeah, you keep thinking that, Heinrich."

Hilda tapped Jet's hands and he released her. "How about whoever isn't helping me make dinner get out of my kitchen? Jet, go get out of those wet clothes already."

Jet pouted, his expression almost as potent as Albert's. "But they're warm."

"Then put on a dry sweater. Shoo!"

"Fine," Jet said and walked out of the kitchen, hands in his pockets and shooting Albert a glare. "I'm watching you," he hissed as he left, leaving a heavy silence in his wake save the clattering of cooking utensils.

"Oh god," Albert sighed, dropping his head back, "I don't know about you but I've lost any desire to ever have children."

"You're the one who brought him home," Hilda laughed. She turned down her mouth, imitating Albert's sad face as best she could, "'But Hilda,'" she whined, "'he's got nowhere to go and it's a blizzard outside!'"

"Well it was!" he argued, "And I don't think you'd love me half as much if I was the type of guy to let a teenager die of exposure out in the snow."

"I wouldn't love you at all."

"There you go."

Still, to say Hilda hadn't been thrilled when Albert plopped a shivering Jet onto their couch last winter was an understatement, despite Albert's assurances that he knew Jet from back when he worked with the circus. Apparently Jet had been a regular feature there and he and Albert had smoked a cigarette or two together. Last winter had been a horribly cold one and Jet admitted that his usual emergency hole-up points had been inaccessible. The snow was so bad that the bus lines had been closed down, denying Jet both a warm place to sleep and a way to the subway lines for the same. The old neighborhood church he often used had been torn down that summer. Albert found him hunkered down beside some steps, wearing nothing but street clothes and a windbreaker, shivering and ready to break the window into a restaurant basement.

They made a bed for him on the couch and Albert said nothing when Hilda locked their bedroom door that night. In the end, it was she who suggested Jet use the empty space in their attic and the three of them worked out his rent. How he paid it neither she nor Albert asked because she was certain they wouldn't like the answer.

Long ago Albert had suggested they get a dog and Hilda turned down the idea. Instead he brought home a Jet. Lesson learned.

She couldn't complain too much; it was nice to have two men around the house. Hilda always considered herself handy enough, but sometimes it was more fun just to make some sad, waifish noise and watch them come running. Fixing the roof had gone by much faster with two sets of hands, though it would have been quicker if they hadn't spent so much time arguing. But when they weren't arguing, Albert displayed a protective nature akin to that of an older brother towards Jet and Hilda often had to remind him that Jet was an adult and didn't need a babysitter, otherwise she found it quite endearing.

Finished with the preparations, Hilda slid the tetrazzini into the oven to bake.

"You done?" Albert asked.

"For now." She wiped off her hands with the dishtowel, more out of habit than anything.

"So, now what?"

"Hmm, I believe you were about to indulge yourself a free nibble?" Hilda suggested, leaning herself towards her husband.

"Yeah, but you know the minute I do anything Jet's going to come barging in."

"Let him."

Albert blinked, his face comically blank before it stretched into a wide grin. "Well, I've never been above giving a little show," he said, and pulled Hilda close.

"Hey guys have you seen my black hoodie and…aw man, really?"