Monday had dawned and soon found Wilson cooking, as was tradition on Labor Day!
He was making a mixture of some new
creole dishes with some old favorites, including a half pig grilled out on the smoker he'd talked Aziraphale into putting out on the patio
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"Good morning, Pippi."
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It wasn't a local paper, of course. Just whichever random publication Aziraphale happened to conjure out of thin air that morning.
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It was a habit he'd picked up somewhere, Phale could probably identify where.
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It was totally not an excuse to cop a feel steal a kiss now and again.
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"You know, usually when people have a cookout for Labor Day, they're, you know, outside,"
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"That's just one part of the meal. I still plan to grill later towards the dinner hour."
Wilson tended to make a lot of food.
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Setting it down, with a fork and spoon next to it, he tapped the chair in an obvious invitation for Lana to sit down and enjoy.
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She headed over to the keg, poured herself a beer, kicked off her shoes and sat down to relax.
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"Well, well, well ... look what the northern winds blew in!"
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"What, no hugs for the old men?" he teased.
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