The hash browns went into the food processor and were more finely chopped by the steel blade. Hannah imagined her Great-Grandmother Elsa spinning in her grave because she’d used boughten hash browns, but that couldn’t be helped. Two large eggs sans shells had found their way into a large mixing bowl. Hannah whipped them up until they were fluffy and then added onion powder, season salt, black pepper, and two tablespoons of cracker crumbs. She stirred everything up, covered it with a paper towel just in case feline interest escalated, and turned back to her food processor. Once the hash browns had been removed to a cutting board and patted dry with paper towels, she spooned them into her mixing bowl, gave everything an encompassing stir, re-covered the bowl with the kitty deterrent towel, put on a fresh pot of coffee, and headed off to the bedroom to change clothes for Mike’s arrival.

She wasn’t a moment too soon. When Hannah came out of the bedroom wearing her favorite forest green top and clean jeans, she heard the doorbell ring. Mike was here. She had to hurry. She opened the door, ushered him in, gave him a cup of coffee, and settled him on the couch with the Kitty Valet boxes to assemble the contents while she went into the kitchen to finish preparing their meal.

Heating the butter and olive oil didn’t take long. Hannah gave the contents of her mixing bowl a stir, decided the batter was neither too dry nor too wet, and began to scoop tiny pancakes into her largest frying pan. She flattened them slightly with a metal spatula so that the shredded potatoes would form a single layer, and then she opened the oven to check the progress of Mike’s sausage and her skinless, boneless, chicken breast.

The sausage was heated through, and it smelled delicious, the chicken breast less so. Hannah returned it to the oven hoping that some of the sausage flavor might migrate behind the closed, sealed door, and turned her attention to dishing up the sour cream and the applesauce.

“Almost ready,” she called out to Mike once she’d checked her pancakes, found them browned nicely, and flipped them over. “What would you like to drink?”

“I’d like a Cold Spring Export, but I’ll settle for coffee. I’m on duty tonight.”

“I know. What’s the latest? Are Jessica and the baby going to be all right?”

“They think so, but it’ll be touch and go for another couple of days. Bridget and Cyril are keeping Rick’s oldest, and Rick’s staying at the hospital with Jessica.”

Hannah bit her tongue. She really wanted to ask if Mike knew the truth about Rick and Ronni, but that would be fishing for gossip. It wasn’t her business. She didn’t need to know. But oh, how she wanted to!