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“Of course you’re not,” Avon said. “I know you’d never do that. But if you like both him and his kids...then what’s the problem?”
I turned to face her. “You should have seen the way Tara Johnson was all over him the other night. She was trying to get to him through Marley and it made me mad.”
“Like jealous mad?”
“No, like back the fuck away from his children mad. Those kids have been through so much already. Their dad is the only parent they have left. And maybe they’ll be ready to share him someday, but they just got here. Their house isn’t even finished yet. They need time.”
“I get that. But what if some other woman swoops in while you’re holding back?”
Shrugging, I said, “I’m not holding back. We danced, that’s it. He hasn’t mentioned more because he doesn’t want more.”
“He was looking at you like he wanted more at The Barn.”
Priscilla walked into the kitchen and I quickly changed the subject.
“So we’re down to these two options for potatoes and then you need to choose two vegetables,” I said.
“Grady wants cooked carrots.”
I groaned. “I can roast carrots, but I wouldn’t serve plain boiled carrots to anyone. Ever.”
Avon laughed. “I know. He likes them boiled with loads of butter and pepper.”
“He also likes boiled hot dogs and bologna sandwiches. He has the palate of a toddler.”
“Let’s definitely plan for broccolini, and we’ll say TBD on the second veggie.”
“Well, it’s not one of my top choices, but I do have a great roasted carrot recipe,” I said begrudgingly.
“I was actually thinking scalloped corn, maybe?”
“I love scalloped corn,” Priscilla said from the other side of the room. “Sorry for interrupting. I’m just hungry. I need to go eat lunch.”
I waved her over. “Come try these potatoes with us.”
I prepared three plates, each with a small serving of each kind of potatoes. We all sampled them in silence.
“Damn, those are both amazing,” Avon said.
“I’m really liking the loaded mashed,” Priscilla said. “Especially if you’re doing scalloped corn.”
“I agree,” I said.
“That sounds perfect to me,” Avon said. “Just don’t mind Grady balking over not having baked potatoes.”
I scoffed. “The absolute audacity of that man to suggest I serve baked potatoes at a wedding. Why don’t we have ribs, too?”
“Who’s having ribs?” a deep voice said. “Am I invited?”
We all turned to see Holt grinning at us as he walked into the kitchen. He wore black shorts, a gray Mammoths T-shirt and a hat with the word “Ferda” on it.
“You like Letterkenny?” I asked, forgetting everything else.
“Hard yes,” he said, grinning back.
He liked my favorite show ever. There were a lot of Letterkenny fans in northern Minnesota, but knowing Holt liked it hit differently. It told me a lot about his sense of humor. Namely, that it was awesome.
“I love that show,” I said.
