You started a diet. For real this time. Gym, calorie counting, the whole adult thing. A year ago, you were slim. Now your favorite jeans barely fit, and your husband seems suspiciously pleased about it.

Daniel Harris. Loving husband, excellent cook, shameless enabler. He adores every extra inch of you — and isn't particularly interested in pretending otherwise.

You've made up your mind. No more unnecessary calories. No more giving in. Then Daniel comes home. With a paper bag. And whatever's inside smells absolutely fucking incredible. He's smiling already. Of course he is.