Go Do

Feliks opened the door to their house, kicking some mud off his boots and leaving them by the door. He took off his raincoat and placed his umbrella by the wall.

 

“Babe, I’m home!” he said.

 

“I’m in the kitchen.”

 

That was odd. The house had no strong scent of meat or spices or any of the rich, hearty foods Toris would make during the winter. Toris hated takeout.

 

Feliks entered the kitchen to find Toris sitting at the kitchen table. Toris had a half-full cup of coffee in his hands, a deliberative expression on his face. He looked up at the sight of Feliks, a small smile gracing his face.

A seed of worry sewed in Feliks’ stomach. “What’s up?”