“Alright, what am I rescuing you from today?” asked Oliver, stirring his second pot of instant noodles.
“Spaghetti and meatballs!” chirped Ryan cheerfully.
“Oh, again?” Oliver feigned a smile.
“Again!”
“Honestly, mate, how many times can you have those? They were just last week!”
“That’s what I keep asking my wife, but she won’t listen! Come on, dig in!”
***
Their new colleague, Simon, stared at them, baffled by Ryan’s dislike for home-cooked meals. Oliver decided to explain.
“It’s not that he hates it—he just misses junk food. Takeaways, kebabs, instant noodles, you know? His wife packs him proper meals every day, so I help out. Can’t let good food go to waste! He gets my instant noodles, and I get his homemade lunch.”
“Is her cooking that bad?” Simon asked, unwrapping his sandwich from the microwave.
“Nah, it’s decent. But sometimes you just don’t fancy meatballs or cottage pie every single day!” Oliver chuckled, popping open Ryan’s container. “Just doing a mate a favour.”
“Wouldn’t it be easier to just tell your wife to stop cooking?” Simon suggested.
“Ryan tried—she won’t hear a word of it!”
“Sounds like you’re enjoying this arrangement.”
“Well, waste not, right?”
“If I had a wife who packed me lunches, I’d never give ’em away!” Simon sighed wistfully, taking a bite of his sandwich.
“Then get married! What’s stopping you?”
“Just haven’t met the right girl yet.”
“You’ll find her,” Oliver clapped him on the shoulder. “You’re new in town, yeah? Plenty of lovely ladies around here.”
After lunch, the boys got back to work—all employed at the same furniture company, just different roles. Ryan was the sales manager, Oliver worked in assembly, and Simon had recently joined the warehouse.
Little did Simon know how prophetic those words would be. That evening, at the supermarket, he spotted a petite woman struggling to reach a box of fancy pasta on the top shelf.
“Need a hand?” he offered politely.
“Would you? Thank you so much!” She flashed him a bright smile, and just like that, Simon was smitten.
Her smile was like a jolt—suddenly, nothing else mattered. By the time she’d grabbed the pasta and moved on, he had to snap himself out of it before hurrying after her.
“So, what’re you making?” he asked casually.
“Oh, just lasagne for my husband! He’s sick of my meatballs,” she laughed.
“I’m Simon, by the way.”
“Lily. Nice to meet you.”
Simon froze. That lunchtime conversation suddenly rushed back.
“Wait, is all that effort worth it if you’re the one running around shopping?” he teased lightly.
“Of course! Nothing’s too good for my hubby.”
“Funny—heard a story today that’s got me questioning that.”
She raised an eyebrow. “What story?”
“Bloke at work’s been swapping his wife’s lunches for instant noodles. Makes you wonder, doesn’t it?”
“If I ever found out my husband did that, he’d regret it!” she huffed, offended on behalf of wives everywhere.
“Yeah, Ryan’s in for it if his wife ever finds out,” Simon agreed before realising his slip.
“Ryan?” She stopped dead. “You work at the furniture company by the river?”
Simon gulped. Oh no.
Lily’s eyes narrowed. That explained why her husband had been putting on weight—same name, same job. Too much of a coincidence.
“That absolute *cheek*!” she seethed, abandoning her trolley and storming off.
Simon chased after her, catching up by her car.
“You can’t drive like this,” he insisted. “Let me buy you a coffee first.”
She hesitated but finally relented.
At the café, Simon ordered coffee and cake—because what else calms a furious woman down? Surprisingly, it worked. Between bites, Lily ranted.
“All this time, I’ve been slaving away for *Oliver*?! I should’ve known!”
“Look, I’m really sorry for blabbing.” Simon winced. “Please don’t tell Ryan—he’s my boss, he’ll sack me!”
Lily smirked. “Oh, I won’t tell him. But he’s not getting off *that* easy.”
Later, Ryan came home to a dark, empty flat. Just as he was about to call Lily, the door opened.
“Where’ve you been?”
“Sorry, love! My colleague wanted lasagne lessons—lost track of time.”
“Lasagne?!” His favourite.
“I bought sausages—fancy some scrambled eggs?”
Ryan grimaced. Now he *really* wanted lasagne.
Over the next two weeks, Lily stopped packing lunches. Ryan suffered through instant noodles while Simon happily ate homemade meals—until one day, Lily turned up with her friend, Marianne.
“Meet Marianne—best cook I know!”
Simon blinked, surprised but not opposed.
Lily left soon after—no cheating intended, just matchmaking.
By the next day, Simon was engaged.
“You *what*?!” Ryan and Oliver gaped.
“Her shepherd’s pie is *unreal*.”
“Still prefer Lily’s lasagne,” Ryan muttered, clutching his lunchbox.
Oliver drooled. “Sharing?”
“Not a chance. Marry someone if you want home cooking!”
Lily never confessed to knowing Simon first—though she did wink at him during the wedding.
“Got your revenge?” he whispered.
“Wouldn’t you like to know,” she laughed. And that was that.
