Chapter One: Domesticated

David Read kissed his sleeping wife before going downstairs to make breakfast. Normally, Jane was up before him, singing as she ground coffee beans and opened the kitchen blinds. Lately, however, he found himself unable to sleep past 5:30. It was an unwelcome change from their routine.

He looked at the old plastic clock that hung above the sink and sank down into a chair. The sun hadn't risen yet-the days were getting shorter and winter was creeping around the corner. His children had just settled into the groove of school assignments. Soon, the snow would be falling and he would begin shoveling out the driveway, making cocoa on the weekends, and wheedling his family into trying exotic hot dishes cooked in the garage, which served as his makeshift kitchen. It all seemed so predictable.

His robe fell open and exposed a pale chest. He felt his hand wander over his stomach, which was beginning to swell-an unfortunate side effect of getting older. His mother was already making jokes about turning forty, but Jane hadn't yet teased him about it. He supposed that was a good thing since his two children, an active preschooler and a well-meaning third-grader, had already made him painfully aware that he was losing his youth. He tried to convince himself that he was gaining weight because he was a chef, all chefs gained weight, they had to, no one trusted a skinny chef… but he knew that wasn't the real reason. The truth probably tied in with getting up earlier and watching the sun rise. He was a family man now, and his life belonged to his wife and kids.

The hallway light turned on and cast a thin glow underneath the swinging door to the kitchen. David was dimly aware that he hadn't yet turned a light on and stood up just as the door squeaked open. As Jane flipped the light switch, she nearly squealed as she saw her husband. One hand flew to clutch her robe closed, the other grabbed the sash snugly tied around her waist.

"Dave, you scared me!" Embarrassed, she hurried over to the coffee maker to wash out yesterday's remnants.

"Sorry, dear." He remained standing next to the table, unsure whether to laugh it off. "I didn't think you would be up yet."

"You could have turned on a light, at least," Jane replied tartly, drying the glass coffee pot without looking at him. For a brief moment, he wondered if she even knew that he had kissed her this morning. "And close your robe, don't let the kids see you in your boxers."

He looked down and halfheartedly complied. When she heard no response, the bite went out of her tone. "It should be another cold day. I'm sure we could all use some more of your minestrone for dinner tonight."

"D.W. doesn't like it, remember?" His hands found her lunchbox and dropped in a pudding pack. His daughter eschewed most of his cooking ideas in favor of what the family called The Three C's: Candy, chocolate, and cake. He had nearly pulled his hair out at trying to think of ways to make her eat healthy. "Maybe if I tell her 'minestrone' is Italian for 'soup-cookie.'"

Jane giggled a little as she turned the machine on. "You'll have some time to think about it. The kids won't be eating until after their parent-teacher conferences tonight, anyway."

David groaned. "Already? It's only October! Their teachers barely know them."

"November's next week," Jane said gently. "And we barely know their teachers."

"That's not true," he countered. "I see D.W.'s teacher all the time. She and Mom play bingo together. And I'm sure I waved at Mr. Ropeburn at the PTA meeting last month."

"Ratburn, Dave."

"Whatever. I overhear enough about him from Arthur and Buster when they come home from school loaded with homework every day." He remembered his son grumbling about it to his friend as their books lay splayed out on the table. Mr. Ratburn wants us to read how many pages? That guy's crazy!

Jane began spreading peanut butter on a sandwich. "Then it would be good for you to talk with him. Try to understand his teaching methods. I'll meet with D.W.'s teacher at the preschool. And Dave," she added slyly, "When we get back, we can unwind together."

It was a phrase that usually brought him excitement. Today, it was like she said it in a different language and he was comforted by his closed robe-not because of its ability to hide an erection, but because it camouflaged the fact that he didn't have one. "Sounds great."