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Inside, they lowered the cart and CC shut the door behind them. “She loves to travel but hates flying, so she works herself into a frenzy the night before she leaves. Helps her sleep on the plane.”
“As much as we wouldn’t want to lose her, there are plenty of gigs for a talent like hers in SF.”
CC laughed out loud. “She would never live that close to our parents again.”
Tony’s answering laugh was drowned out by a wave of noise from the back of the house—banging pots, a pressure cooker whistle, more laughter—all of it echoing down the long narrow hallway. Typical double gallery side hall floor plan for this neighborhood, and no surprise this bunch of foodies would be gathered in the kitchen and living areas at the back. And with the enticing aromas drifting from that direction—brisket, onions, fried potatoes—no one could fault them.
She and Tony were halfway down the hall when a mini commotion reached them first. Amos, Tony and Greg’s son who CC recognized from around Dram, was careening in their direction, two other kids on his heels, both of them freckled gingers.
Arms spread, Tony stepped in their path. “Slow down before someone gets hurt.”
Likely the smallest one. The little boy couldn’t have been more than three, and he was struggling to keep up with Amos and the redheaded girl, his sister if CC had to guess.
“Say hello to CC,” Tony said to Amos. “And introduce your cousins.”
“Hey, CC.” Amos waved, then elbowed the girl at his side. “This is Molly.”
She elbowed him right back, then jutted her thumb over her shoulder. “That my brother, Michael.”
CC smiled to cover her awkwardness, unsure if she should bend down and make conversation or maybe offer the kids something from Colby’s cart. She’d babysat the neighbor’s kids once as a teen and known right then that she’d never have children of her own. Decades later, she still didn’t know how to relate to them. But as with most kids, Amos and the redheads weren’t that interested in her either. Another quick round of waves and they skirted around Tony and into the room to their left where a blanket fort was pitched between two twin beds, Legos scattered on the floor beneath it.
“Don’t take it personally,” Tony said as they started down the hallway again. “They’re always like this when they see each other. In their own world, no adults allowed.”
“Colby and I were the same with our cousins whenever we—” They emerged from the hall, through a wet bar she would have drooled over if she weren’t too busy drooling over the kitchen spread out before her. She and Colby had upgraded their own kitchens when they’d bought their place, but this was next level.
“Dessert is here,” she vaguely heard Tony say, and barely registered Greg throwing her a wink and a “You know she is.” She was still too caught up trying to take in the kitchen of her and Colby’s dreams. A massive cooking and serving island stretched the length of the space, and on either side were wide aisles, an artfully set banquet dining table to the right, and three massive chefs to the left, including Greg, operating between the sixty-inch range top on the island and the double sinks and prep space beneath the wall of windows.
“Miller Sykes,” Tony said, and the chef in plaid flipping latkes in a skillet on the range raised a hand. “Noah Rosin,” he said next, and the one chopping fennel who had more hair on his chin than on his head raised his hand. “This is CC, Colby’s sister.”
“Oh!” Miller flashed her a grin, wide and bright in his gray and chestnut scruff. “So you’re the person I need to convince to move to Boston.” Except Chef Plaid sounded way more Southern than Bostonian, and what did he mean move there?
Before she could voice her confusion, Greg flicked him with latke batter. “I’m not letting you have Colby. Not when Eater goes on for paragraphs about how good our desserts are now.”
Have Colby?
“Give up, y’all,” Noah said, the y’all at odds with the New York accent. He tossed the chopped fennel in a large bowl, added what looked like grapefruit pieces, then went to town with a pepper mill. “She’s from California. I win.”
“Oh, shut up, Mister Lives on a Vineyard.” Miller flicked batter on down the line. “Unfair advantage.”
“Times two!” Greg agreed, but then said to Miller, “Though in fairness, you used to live there too.”
More batter flew, and CC’s head spun just as fast, struggling to keep up with the rapid-fire banter, the choreographed kitchen operation, the mentions of moving, and chefs fighting over Colby. It was a storm she hadn’t been prepared for, and it was tilting her world off-balance.
Until a familiar laugh from the far end of the room on the other side of Chef Mountain focused her attention.
She stepped right, out from the end of the island, and the rest of the living area came into view. Past the kitchen and the fireplace that divided the back wall of the house in half was a cozy space filled with two oversize chairs angled at either end of a corner sectional and a giant ottoman-slash-coffee-table. All the furniture—and the people on it—faced the kitchen, including the casual version of Al who CC had first met at SFO. Her maxi skirt tonight was navy with gold starbursts, her sweater a matching dark blue, and her bare feet poked out from under the hem of the skirt. She looked relaxed and happy, tucked under the arm of a strikingly attractive older man with copper and silver curls. They were totally caught up in whatever the redheaded woman on the arm of the chair to their right was saying. In said chair sat a ginger man, and for perhaps the first time in her life, CC thought maybe her own red hair was in the majority tonight. It was the only thing that remotely made her feel like she belonged here.
Tony rejoined her, glass in hand. “Manhattan for you,” he said, handing her the cocktail. “It’s a lot, I know. Let’s leave Larry, Moe, and Curly to it.”
That earned him a flick of latke batter, then like the children in the hall, the chefs quickly forgot they existed, arguing who was which Stooge. She and Tony continued on toward the living area, Al finally glancing their way just as they cleared the end of the island. Her bright smile made CC’s pulse pound, and her dark eyes, filling with that same smoldering heat from their first encounter, made all of CC’s pumping blood race a different direction. Neon Danger signs blinked in her head, and yet CC didn’t turn and run, too intrigued by this woman and her unconventional family.
“Someone’s husbands are misbehaving,” Tony said.
“Including yours?” Ezra, CC assumed, given his age and accent and the easy affection between him and Al.
“Of course,” Tony replied. “Which is why I’m here with this beautiful lady.”
Smiling, Al unfolded from the couch and stepped around Ezra’s knees. “They’re as much trouble together as the kids.” She crossed to CC’s side and looped an arm through her free one. “This one’s trouble too, so watch out. Everyone, this is CC, Colby’s sister. She’s also across from me on a deal at the moment.”
