She found a pair of scissors and cut through the cute orange-and-white checked packing tape. Inside, the box was fully lined with four frozen gel packs, which must be full of something eco-friendly, otherwise the people at Full Plate were going to hell. There was a neatly wrapped package of frozen, sustainably harvested mahi-mahi chunks from Oregon, a stack of white corn tortillas baked in Queens, half a free-range chicken from the Hudson Valley, diced mango from Puerto Rico, shredded cabbage and arugula grown hydroponically on a rooftop in Brooklyn, some hot sauce, some orzo, a block of Vermont goat-milk feta cheese, and a bunch of beets and chives, both from Long Island. At the very bottom of the box were a ready-made flourless chocolate cake, two bottles of white wine, and two laminated cards with pictures and step-by-step instructions for how to prepare fish tacos with mango salsa and arugula and half a roast chicken with beet, feta cheese, and orzo salad. Score!

Mandy wasn’t much of a cook. She could make Bisquick pancakes and grilled cheese sandwiches that sometimes came out burned. She’d certainly never made fish tacos or half a chicken. But the instructions made both dishes look pretty easy, and she had nothing better to do. She’d cook the fish tacos for her lunch and make the chicken for her and the boys for dinner. Ted would go apeshit over the cake. Stu didn’t like white wine, so she could have that all for herself.

She expected to feel guilty, stealing other people’s food, but she didn’t. It wasn’t like she was stealing from the hungry.

Stu’s face appeared on her phone.

Crazy shit happening over at the school. Did you see?

Mandy’s mind drifted to the police car and then back to the mahi-mahi taco instructions.

Don’t bother me, I’m cooking.

There was a moment’s pause before he replied.

Whoa. Seriously? Can’t wait to taste! Sorry, gotta run, client here.