Expect the Unexpected

Eleven

Later that afternoon, Rob was quite literally up to his elbows in various ingredients as he'd quite a bit of fun with making a mess of his kitchen. Considering how nauseous he and especially his ex-wife'd been for the last couple weeks, he was working on a project while he actually felt up to doing it. He loved to cook, as evidenced by his owning a restaurant, and figured he'd come up with a way to appease their taste buds without setting off their iffy stomachs. At least if he did nothing else, he gave the aforementioned woman a good laugh since he prolly wound up covered with just as much as what wound up in his mixing bowls.

        Even though he most certainly did hear his mudroom door open, he didn't bother glancing up from the latest measurement he was making. There were very few folks who didn't live here at one point or another–or who at least visited frequently–who even knew where he lived, let alone had keys. He wasn't worried in the slightest, 'cuz he figured that outta all the folks he knew, it was most likely to be the woman he'd claimed as his best friend.

        Sure enough, seconds after hearing the mudroom door close again, Raven appeared through the doorway that led into the kitchen. Mishy'd been wondering why on Earth her ex-husband hadn't reacted in the slightest, 'cuz she was pretty sure that–even with his career–he wasn't quite that deaf yet. He'd to've heard even that soft Sound loud and clear, considering that the house was fairly quite at the moment. Realizing that it was his best friend made her relax where she sat on a bar stool to watch him, though, 'cuz of course he wouldn't react to someone he trusted entering his home.

        "Holy flour bombs, Batman!" the brunette woman laughed. "Just get the itch again, or have ya got a reason for trying to blow your kitchen up for the nth Time?"

        "Ah, a lil bit of both," Rob chuckled as he turned toward her.

        "Oh–and just how's that possible?" she queried, apparently not bothered by him being covered in hell-only-knew what as he grabbed her for a quick hug.

        "Hey, ya know me–I've cooking oil, coffee, and various types of alcohol in my veins, not blood!" the Silver Fox laughed.

        "I should hope that alcohol's used in your cooking these Days," Mishy dead-panned.

        "Unless I'm cooking or dumping it out, I ain't bothered touching alcohol in upwards of twenty Years," he told her proudly. "And I don't count cooking as being a bad thing since the heat burns the alcohol off."

        "Unless you're making my Witch's Brew," Raven snickered.

        "Oh, fuck me wide open, sideways, nekkid, and runnin', girl!" Rob laughed. "I think I got rotted just from sniffing that shit!"

        The brunette woman simply grinned mischievously as the kids started wandering into the family room, no doubt 'cuz they'd heard voices.

        "It's a homemade concoction that I can tailor to the Seasons," she explained, considering the look Mishy was shooting her. "The base's Apple cider, and what kinda liquor I use in it's based on the Season we're in when I make it."

        "Like right now, it's the original version of her Witch's Brew that'd be made," Rob said. "Think Apple, Cinnamon, Maple–things along those lines."

        "That actually sounds pretty good," his ex-wife mused.

        "Problem is, there's enough liquor in it to knock him on his ass, even back when he was a heavyweight drinker," Raven snickered. "I warned him before he ever took a whiff that if he'd even a spoonful as a taste-test, it was at his own peril since I knew about his history."