Spenser laughed. “No, not completely. Enough of it can be salvaged…but why don’t you let me finish. I don’t want you to burn down the apartment.”
Jordan faked a pout. “Well, okay, but I really wanted to make dinner for us to celebrate.”
“You can help. Finish peeling the onions, chop them—and the celery, and open the cans of tomatoes. I’ll do the rest.”
The two went to work finishing making dinner. Jordan was glad in a way that the hamburger had burned. It had interrupted him from continuing to wade deeper into the fantasy he’d created about his being fired, and it gave him some time to come up with a plausible plan for what he would do for a job, given he had no degree and no real skills—facts he felt had to still be kept secret from his lover.
The diversion didn’t succeed. During dinner, Spenser pressed for more details and also what Jordan’s plans were for finding work.