‘Bhut’ by Michelle F Goddard

Claudia found her husband leaning over her pot of spaghetti, spoon in one hand and a jar of cayenne in the other.

“You know I can see you, right?” she said, as she marched toward him. She took the jar and shouldered him away from the stove.

“It just needs a little more heat,” Rudy said, handing her the spoon. 

“I’ll tell you what needs a little more heat,” she said, eyeing her husband up and down. She threw out the enticement, but it landed like a plane on a thirty-minute layover: no one was getting off.
 
Rudy retreated to the breakfast table and pulled up the headlines on his laptop. “Your sauce would be amazing if you added a bit more kick. “Do you see this? Some guy comes up with a new kind of granola, and he’s making millions. He’s got a life-sized cut-out displayed at the grocery store. I mean, everyone knows who he is.” 

“I also hear he and his wife are divorcing and fighting over his actual net worth,” Claudia said. “There’s always a price for fame.”

Rudy dismissed her with a wave. “Not us, babe. We jar that sauce, slap my handsome mug on the label, and we’re laughing. That is, once you add a few more Scovilles.”

Claudia covered the pot and dropped the spoon in the sink. She stepped toward her husband. Rudy reached out and encircled her waist without looking. His other hand scrolled through the news. She twisted her fingers through his curls. The touches of gray and few extra pounds did nothing to quell her desire for him. Lately, however, Rudy seemed distracted. The only things that got him fired up were the hot peppers he ate morning, noon, and night. 

Claudia pressed herself against him, even to the point of thrusting her ample breast against his cheek. Rudy did not release his grip on her, but he did move his face slightly so that he could continue reading. Claudia sighed. Maybe she should be happy his midlife crisis hadn’t gone the way of alcoholism or fast cars. 

“And why not my mug on the jar of spaghetti sauce?” Claudia asked.

“Oh, babe. You wouldn’t be able to stand the heat.” Rudy slapped her on the ass before sliding his arm out to reach toward a bowl set out on the middle of the table. In it stood a collection of peppers, washed and dried. Rudy plucked one fat, green jalapeno by its stem. He took a bite and chewed vigorously as he continued to read. “But I’m telling you, you’ve got to tweak that recipe.”

Claudia stepped away and untied the apron from around her neck. “Well, if you’re so keen to give me advice, maybe you should come with me to the farmers’ market.”

“But I’m reading.”

“All those reality stars and overnight successes will be waiting for you when you come back. Maybe you could spend some time with me.” She put her hands on her hips when he didn’t move. “You’re the one nagging me about ingredients.”

Rudy rolled his eyes, but he did exit the webpage and close the lid on his laptop.