He cowered as if she’d hurt him. “Geez, woman, no need to get violent! I’ll be good!”
She laughed and shook her head. “Hopper, keep him in line.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
I snuck one more bruschetta and set it on Ed’s tray. “You shouldn’t miss out on your son’s true genius.”
I winked and ambled over to the kitchen. It was best not to stick around the scene once you’d committed a crime.
For a minute, I just stared. Noel was wearing an apron that readKiss the Cook.Tempting. Very tempting. If only the cook didn’t hate me.
He stirred the gravy, a flush in his cheeks from the heat of the stove, but otherwise, he was pristine. Not a single hair out of place. No smears of flour or other ingredients. Not even a stain on his white apron.
“Check the pie in the oven,” he told his mom. “It should be done.”
“But the timer hasn’t even?—”
Beep.
She laughed. “I don’t know how you do that.”
“Lots of practice,” he said, sounding more modest than I would have expected.
“But we’ve got a whole Thanksgiving meal going.”
He nodded. “I manage a kitchen at a restaurant. There are half a dozen things happening at any one time. It’s a learned skill.” He smiled. “But none of my sous chefs are as good as you.”
“Oh, I’m sure,” she said with a disbelieving chuckle.
“I’m serious,” he said with a smile that lightened his whole face. “You haven’t argued with me once.”
“Well, just wait,” she said, her voice muffled by the oven as she pulled out the pie and set it on the stovetop to the side of the gravy he was preparing. “You’ll start sniping with Hopper again, and then I’ll have to break out the Mom voice.”
“The man just gets under my skin. Why isn’t he at home with his own family?”
“Noel,”she chastised gently. “Has it occurred to you he doesn’t have that option?”
“What?” He sounded startled. “But his dad…”
“He’ll join us if he’s up to it,” she said. “You know Hopper lost his mom years ago, honey. It’s just the two of them now.”
“Oh, I?—”
I cleared my throat before Noel could say what he really thought about me and my dad begging for scraps at the Grisold table. Jesus. No wonder he thought I was an interloper. Iwas.
“You all need me to carve the turkey?” I asked loudly.
Noel jumped, finally sloshing some gravy out of the pan with a sizzle. Ha. He wasn’t perfect, after all. He grabbed a tea towel and mopped it up.
“I can do it.”
“You’ve been going all day, Noel. Let him do it.” She smiled at me. “Hopper always carves for us. It’s tradition. Right, sweetie?”
My throat tightened. In the past, I’d believed that. I’d carved the turkey year after year, thinking that Maggie needed me to help out. Now, I was beginning to see I was the one who’d needed her and Ed.
She was trying to take care of me still.
“Right,” I said gruffly. “But if Noel wants to do it…”
