“Have a seat, Roman.”
“Rowan.”
“Right. Rowan,” she corrected. She looked between me and the empty end of my couch. I didn’t think I was going to win this one, so I decided to give in. I took a seat on the couch opposite her. “Milo said that you do not have family here, and as you now live in our building, I can’t have that.”
I raised a questioning brow at her. I didn’t know what she expected to do about the fact that my family lived in North Carolina.
“We’ve had a few other Scorpions living here since Milo got drafted and we moved in, and every time, I took them in. Same as I did our Milo when he was young. Of course, that was Annabelle’s doing, but it was the same thing in the end. Milo and I have breakfast a few times a month. I’m planning on cooking us up something tomorrow morning.” When I didn’t say anything, she sighed a dramatic sigh that reminded me too much of her nephew. It appeared he got his theatrical overreactions from her. I wondered if it was a family trait. “Brunch will be on the table tomorrow at 9:30. Be there by 9:15.”
“And does Milo know you’re inviting me?” Invitation felt like too weak a word for this. Something told me if I tried to say no, she’d show up at my door and drag me there by my ear. Don’t ask me how she would reach my ear, but it was the impression she gave.
Ethel lifted her frail shoulders into a shrug. “Milo will not mind your company, and besides, I don’t need his permission to invite a neighbor to breakfast.” She fixed her shimmering blue eyes on me. “Do you have any dietary restrictions? I know Milo’s got a diet he was put on by the team. Figure you do too.”
“I can eat anything,” I assured her. I wasn’t going to expect someone to go out of their way to prepare food based on the team diet for me. If she was already doing it for Milo, then it couldn’t be too far off mine. And if it was, then I’d just make up the difference when I got home.
“Good.” She stood. “I will see you tomorrow. I look forward to getting to know you better, Rowan.”
And with that, she left as quickly as she’d arrived, leaving behind remnants of some floral perfume as a sign that she’d been there at all.
Despite the unconventional way Ethel had issued her invitation, I showed up at her door at 9:15 sharp.
Milo opened the door and his brow furrowed as he noticed me standing on the other side. “Rowan?”
“Your aunt demanded I come to breakfast,” I told him. I paused at the door and took a small step backward. “You don’t mind, do you?”
“Of course not. I just wasn’t expecting you. She didn’t tell me she invited you.” His words came out in a barely coherent rush and color flooded his cheeks. He pulled the door open wider. “Come in. Aunt Ethel’s still cooking, but it should be ready soon.”
I stepped over the threshold into Ethel’s apartment. I was assaulted by bright colors. Crocheted blankets were draped over overstuffed chairs and couches. Framed pictures decorated the wall and every flat surface. Any place that didn’t have framed pictures was decorated with knickknacks, vases of brightly colored flowers, delicate doilies, and unlit candles. My eyes couldn’t choose one place to settle. It was like information overload, and it kept going as I stepped further into the room.
Despite the hot Tucson weather, there were coats hung on the wall. Shoes laid in a disheveled pile under them. Milo caught me looking at the shoes and grinned. “Aunt Ethel doesn’t like shoes in the house. She said that was Aunt Annabelle’s influence.”
I took the hint and toed out of the sneakers I’d worn over, lining them up neatly beside the disorganized pile. I was grateful I’d chosen matching socks that day.
I followed Milo into the open living area and watched as he plopped down on the overstuffed couch. I went to sit in a chair, but he cleared his throat. “Not that one,” he warned. “That’s Aunt Ethel’s favorite chair, and she gets uppity if someone else sits there.”
“I do not get uppity,” his aunt shouted from the kitchen. “Rowan, do not listen to him. He’s a pot stirrer.”
“I’ve learned that,” I answered back. Milo raised his long middle finger in my direction. “Do you need any help?”
Milo winced, and I wondered if I’d messed up in my attempt to be polite. “No. I don’t like people in my kitchen with me while I do my breakfasts. Sit down. Relax. Talk to Milo.”
I did as instructed.
For the next fifteen minutes, Milo and I made small talk. Mostly, we talked about that weekend’s trip to Roswell to play the Marauders. We both agreed that we had very little chance of winning that game. The Marauders were one of those teams that almost always made the playoffs. They hadn’t missed in the past five years. They’d even made the championship the year before. They were currently one of the few undefeated teams left in the league, and I highly doubted that the Scorpions would be the ones to break that streak.
At a few minutes past 9:30, Ethel called us to the table. It was loaded down with plates of bacon and sausage, homemade biscuits, fried eggs, and misshapen pancakes. At first glance, everything looked amazing. When I started loading my plate, I noticed the fried eggs were somehow burnt on the bottom but still slimy on the top. The bacon was overcooked, and the sausage charred around the edges. The biscuits all had burnt bottoms.
But maybe it would still taste okay.
I still waited for Milo to take a bite of his food. He bit a sausage patty with gusto, and he didn’t react as if the food tasted terrible. I decided to take a chance and took a bite of my own food.
It became painfully clear where Milo had gotten his cooking skills from. I should have known. After all, he’d said those terrible cookies from the tour he’d given me had been adapted from one of Ethel’s recipes. I swallowed down the sausage and attempted the bacon. It wasn’t much better than the sausage, but it wasn’tworsethan the sausage either.
“Milo said you used to play for the Foxes?” Ethel asked after we’d all had a few bites. I was grateful for the distraction. “Where is that?”
“Fayetteville,” I told her. When she didn’t react to the city name, I clarified. “North Carolina. I grew up about an hour away from Fayetteville, so getting drafted there was great. My family’s local, or at least my siblings are, and I played for the team I loved growing up.” Their head coach had been a wide receiver for them when I’d been a child. I’d had an autographed poster of him on my wall until I was in the seventh grade. It had been surreal playing for someone I’d looked up to in my youth.
“What’s that like?” Ethel asked as she cut into one of her eggs. A few drops of bright yellow yolk attempted to escape, but most of it was solid.
