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“Here’s your breakfast,” Jessilyn said to Donovan. She set a bowl and a plate in front of him. While Donovan put the newspaper on the seat beside him, Jessilyn pointed out the items in front of him. “My from-scratch biscuits and a bowl of gravy.”
British wanted to be the first to tell Jessilyn how delicious her breakfast smelled but decided not to. The compliment could end up with Jessilyn asking for her to go back into the system and change her grades. But damn, it might be worth it for a biscuit drizzled in the thick, peppery sauce. British’s stomach growled.
“Thanks,” Donovan said to Jessilyn. “British, I’m sure Jessilyn has more.”
“No, thank you,” British replied with a sweet smile.
“She’s afraid I’ll poison hers,” explained Jessilyn.
Donovan picked up his fork and knife and cut into the fluffy biscuit, then proceed to dip it into the gravy. British and Jessilyn moved closer to inspect what he was doing.
“Something wrong?” Donovan asked.
“What are you doing to my biscuits?” Jessilyn asked, her arms folded across her chest.
“Eating them?” Donovan responded slowly as if they were the ones who were crazy.
“Why are you dipping your biscuit like a dieter dips her fork into her salad dressing on the side?” British asked.
Donovan sat back in his seat. “This is how eating biscuits and gravy is done.”
“By who?” British and Jessilyn asked together.
Ignoring them, Donovan went back to cutting a piece of his biscuit. “This is how we eat them in the South.”
“No, honey,” snapped Jessilyn. She grabbed the plate from in front of Donovan and slid it, then the bowl, toward British “Ms. B, will you please do the honors?”
“Donovan, you live in South Beach,” said British. She picked up the bowl and drizzled the thick, white gravy on top of the partially eaten biscuit. “Here in the true South, we smother our biscuits.”
Now satisfied with the proper way the breakfast was being eaten, Jessilyn turned to Donovan, her hands on her hips. “Do you understand?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Donovan said, saluting her.
“Fine. I’ll bring you another plate.”
British devoured his breakfast. She hummed while she chewed. She even contemplated going over to Southwood High School and getting that grade changed. “This is so delicious,” British informed Donovan.
“So was the one bite I had.” Donovan pressed his elbows on the table and shook his head. “I’m glad my faux pas on biscuits and gravy etiquette created a bond between the two of you. Perhaps now you’ll have dinner with me?”
“Donovan,” British said, hoping he heard the warning tone in her voice. Her eyes flittered toward the arched entrance where Stephanie’s parents giggled and made their way to the table. Apparently the lovefest from last night continued today.
“Yes?” Don
ovan asked. He smiled devilishly, which only made him more handsome. “Jessilyn wanted to make sure we had a proper dinner tonight before everyone left.”
“Everyone’s leaving?” British looked up at Stephanie’s mother.
“Just for the Thanksgiving break,” she told her. “With our house still under construction, we’re going to spend the next few days with family in Peachville.”
With everyone gone, British realized there’d be no point in her staying, either. Images of her and Donovan rolling around on the king-size bed in his room flooded her mind. Her senses became alert and blood pulsed through her fingertips. British dropped her fork. Everyone at the table stared. “Sorry, y’all. Will you excuse me, please?”
British pushed herself away from the table and briskly walked out of the dining room. This wasn’t right. She was here to help the girls with the upcoming competition. If the girls were leaving, there was no point in British staying here. She needed to go upstairs and pack, not to fantasize about the hunk at the end of the table. This couldn’t be what Vonna had been talking about when she’d said it was beyond time for British to move on. Tiffani’s idea, maybe.
She barely got to the staircase before Donovan caught up with her. His fingers laced around her upper arm as he led her into the library. The blinds were closed tight, sealing out the morning sun. The scent of old books overpowered the faint bacon aroma. British backed up against the wall to the sunroom.
“We always seem to find ourselves in here,” Donovan whispered.
“You keep cornering me,” said British, squaring her shoulders. The slight movement allowed a sliver of the sun inside the room. Donovan pressed his left hand above the wall just over her head. “You really ought to stop teasing me.”
