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I wasn’t worried for a minute that he would protest. He loves his Aunt Susie just like I do. I still don’t know what we would have done without her. I could not ask for a better friend.
“Can I go back and play now?”
“You sure can.” He runs off, and I head over to my room to shower and get ready for tonight.
* * *
I’m sitting in my car outside Jamie’s home, and I’m scared to death. Looking at his enormous house, I feel as if it is going to swallow me whole. I can turn around, leave, and get Lucas. I can make sure he will never find me. But that is what I have been doing for eighteen years.
I hear Susie’s words, It’s time to stop.
I cut the engine off, grab my purse and get out of the car. I dressed in simple jeans, a navy tank top, and flip-flops. It’s seven, and the air is still humid.
I walk up to the front porch and ring the bell. The door is beautiful, solid cherry, I believe. The house is gorgeous, and nothing I ever expected to see Jamie live in.
I hear shuffling inside, and then the door opens.
“Hi,” he says and opens the door wider, “come on in.”
I step into the house, and the inside is just as beautiful as the outside. A bit bachelor paddy for me, but it has potential.
“Have you eaten?” he asks.
I shake my head. I had all the words played out in my head, everything I wanted to say, and now, standing in front of him in his home, I can’t seem to find them.
“Good,” he replies, “’cause I made us dinner.” He motions for what I assume is the kitchen and says, “Come on.”
I follow him into the kitchen. “Aargh, what is that smell?” I say as I walk into a cloud of smoke.
He rushes over to the oven and opens the door. More smoke flows out, and we both cough. He grabs a kitchen towel and reaches in to pull the pan out.
“Be careful, you are going to burn yourself with just that towel.” I rush over and begin looking in drawers for a potholder. “Don’t you have any potholders?”
He drops the pan in the sink. “No. Remember, I just moved in yesterday.” He waves at the smoke. “And I think I just ruined our dinner.”
I look at the charred meat in the sink. “What is it?” I can’t help the giggle that escapes. “Or should I say, what was it?”
Disappointed, he replies, “Pork Tenderloin.” He shrugs. “I have nothing for us for dinner.”
I love punch him on the arm. “No worries, I can whip up something.”
“But you’re my guest.”
I look at him, and I am beyond being scared and awkward. “I’d rather be cooking than trying to cut through the awkward silence.” Walking over to the sink, I wash my hands. “Let’s make a pact right now. We’ll work on dinner and leave all the heavy conversation for dessert.”
He comes over beside me and says, “Deal, can I help?”
“Yes, but first, I need to see if you have everything I need.” I rummage through his pantry, which is pretty barren, but I believe I have everything I need. “Do you have eggs?? Butter?” I ask.
He walks to the fridge, opens the doors, and pulls those out.
I run through the ingredients in my head. “What about onions?”
“I have spring onions,” he replies.
“Perfect.”
“Whatcha making?”
