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Bridget’s eyes lit up at the mention of additional guests. “Really? That’s great! More people to impress with my culinary skills.” A smug smile played on her lips as she stirred the risotto, which was flecked with strands of orange.
“What’s that orange stuff?” Jo leaned in closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper as if discussing state secrets rather than dinner plans.
“Saffron,” Bridget declared with a flourish, giving the creamy dish a final, confident stir.
Earlier, when Jo had walked through the door, the house was alive with homely smells, the gentle buzz of family life in the air. Pickles lounged on the porch, watching her warily from the corner as she approached but not running away. Finn was his usual bubbly self.
“I’ll call Holden and see if he wants in. If we’re discussing their case, he’ll want to be here.” Bridget reached for her phone. She dialed Holden with practiced ease, her excitement barely contained. Jo leaned against the counter, munching on a homemade buttermilk biscuit as she eavesdropped on the one-sided conversation.
“Hey, Holden, it’s Bridget. Mick has some news on the case,” she said.
There was a pause, a soft murmur from the phone that Jo couldn’t quite catch.
“Yes, and I’m making supper too. Saffron risotto. So why don’t you come over and bring your appetite with you?” Bridget continued, her invitation wrapped in the promise of a good meal and good company.
Another pause, this one longer, as Holden responded.
Bridget’s laughter filled the kitchen, genuine and infectious. “No, I promise, nothing too fancy this time. You’ll love it. See you soon?”
As Bridget ended the call, she looked over at Jo, her expression a mix of pride and anticipation. “Holden’s on his way. Says he wouldn’t miss home cooking for the world.”
Sam arrived first with Lucy trotting at his heels, her tail wagging in anticipation of the household’s welcome.
“Smells like heaven in here,” he announced.
Jo looked up from where she was chopping fresh herbs. “Heaven’s got nothing on Bridget’s cooking,” she teased, sliding the herbs into the risotto pot as Bridget had instructed her.
Lucy, ever the social butterfly, made her rounds, nudging and sniffing hellos, securing her place among friends.
A knock on the kitchen door surprised them. No one ever used that door because it was around back and in the dark. Jo opened it cautiously to find Mick.
“Did you just come out of the woods or something?” Jo stood back to let him in.
Mick laughed. “Or something. Just checking around the place. You know how it is. Saw you all in here and figured I’d come in this way.” Mick shrugged off his leather jacket and headed toward the liquor cabinet. “I hope you have whiskey.”
Bridget glanced over her shoulder and chuckled. “Of course, we got the best for you.”
Mick raised an eyebrow and made himself at home getting a small glass from the cupboard. “Anyone else?” he asked over the clink of ice and the slosh of liquid.
“I’ll stick with beer,” Sam said.
“Me too,” Jo added.
Holden was the last to arrive, knocking and then pushing the door open with a soft creak. He had a bakery box in his hand. “Didn’t want to come empty-handed.”
Sam looked into the box. “Boston cream pie. My favorite.”
Bridget plated the meal, and they all moved to the table, the chairs scraping softly against the floorboards as they sat down.
Holden, his gaze roving appreciatively over the spread, was the first to sink his fork into the risotto. “Oh, this is heavenly,” he declared, his voice muffled by a mouthful of the creamy grains. The risotto was rich and complex, the saffron lending a luxurious earthiness.
Bridget watched the table with a mixture of pride and anticipation, her cheeks flushed from the heat of the stove and the warm glow of the overhead lights.
Sam savored a bite of the chicken. “The chicken’s perfect. It always comes out too dry when I make it.”
Mick spooned up some of the golden caramelized Brussels sprouts. “I only know how to grill, so my chicken comes out burned.”
Jo leaned back in her chair, a forkful of risotto paused at her lips. “I hope Bridget never gets her own place. I’ve been eating like royalty since she came.”
