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I chose to focus on that and not the heaping pile of dishes and bowls and utensils overloading the sink.
“You’re cooking a huge dinner,” she pointed out.
I whistled. “You’re quick, kid.”
She rolled her eyes. “Is it like, Thanksgiving?”
“Just thought I’d make you and Ian a nice big dinner. We haven’t had one since we moved in. You had a lot of homework this week, and he, you know, has hardly been home because of work.” There was some potato mixture on the side of my finger. Bringing my hand to my mouth, I licked it off and hummed. “A little more salt,” I murmured.
I added that, and a handful more of sharp cheddar, and then started scooping the mixture into the hollow potato skins on the baking sheet.
“He was home last night,” she pointed out. “That was fun.”
“It was.”
She walked past me, then hung her backpack on the hook in the hallway off the kitchen. “I like him,” she said simply.
Watching them play catch in the yard did strange, strange things to me. In truth, I hadn’t thought about Ian’s possible role in Sage’s life beyond the fact that he was my friend, and I wanted to make sure she was comfortable being in a shared space with him.
Certain things stayed buried in deep, dark places out of sheer self-preservation. There was a musty graveyard in my brain where all my secret yearnings were covered in six feet of worm-filled dirt, and the headstones were carved with various words that I refused to label because it was scary to want them too badly.
Things like a big family and a father who loved her and a husband who gave me butterflies and the kind of happiness that comes from feeling like the best version of yourself with someone else beside you.
Watching them like that…
I blew out a sharp breath and tried not to think about the things it unearthed.
After a kiss on my cheek, Sage disappeared to her room to do homework, and I kept cooking like a maniac. While the potatoes were in the oven, I sliced up pears for the salad and mixed the dressing in a small glass bowl. The clock ticked closer to five, and with the salad ready, I cleaned some of the larger mixing bowls, then loaded the dishwasher with as many of the smaller items as I could fit.
I’d just started a quick cycle when the sound of Ian’s truck had me straightening from where I was setting the table. It was so painfully domestic, the likes of which I’d never even pretended to want while growing up.
This was what my mom did—she cleaned the house and kept laundry shuffling and made simple, hearty meals that were ready to eat when my dad got home from a hard day’s work. It’s what she’d always wanted, and I didn’t begrudge her that, but it wasn’t the thing I’d dreamed of doing.
Ian walked in the door—dark brown shirt today—and he drew up short when he saw the set table. In the middle of the table was a serving platter from his cabinet holding a steaming, tender roast, thick, fragrant gravy in a ceramic serving bowl, the twice-baked potatoes cooling on a plate, the layer of gooey cheese on top perfectly melted and bubbly.
His brows lowered. “You okay, Keaton?”
“Why is everyone asking me that?”
The grin that split his mouth was quick and potent but disappeared quickly. He set his hands on his hips and studied the dinner waiting to be consumed, the three beautiful place settings, complete with fancy-ass folded napkins.
Then his dark eyes locked onto mine, like he was searching for something in my face. “I won’t ask you about your word count,” he started, and my eyes narrowed slightly. “But this looks delicious, even if it was a procrastination technique.”
With a scoff, I chucked a hand towel at him. He caught on a laugh.
“Dinner will be ready in five,” I told him.
He notched his fingers to his temple in a salute. “Yes, ma’am.”
I shook my head and yelled up the stairs for Sage. For as much shit as they both gave me, the dinner disappeared with groans of delight and effusive thanks.
Sage talked about school and the few friends she was making in her grade. Ian let us do most of the talking, but if we asked him a question, he’d answer.
“What do you miss about London?” Sage asked.
“The architecture.” He tilted his head. “And the pastries.”
I smiled. “Not the people? I’ve heard everyone’s so nice over there.”
