cartons from the bags and opened them one at a time, searching for cracks. “Were you able to find everything else? Crabmeat? Gruyère? Tuscan kale?”
“I got kale. It didn’t come with a passport.” I sniffed the air. “What smells so good?”
Calvin closed the last egg carton. “Two possibilities. Either the peach turnovers I just put in the oven, or the lingering scent of the scrumptious hummingbird cupcakes that Teddy made and is now decorating with exceptional skill and artistry. Try one.”
Calvin broke a piece off an unfrosted cupcake and popped it into my mouth. He was right, they were scrumptious. Mary Berry would have been proud.
Teddy stood at the island with Bug and Pebbles sitting at his feet, alert and attentive, clearly hoping he’d drop something. I walked to the other side of the island and spotted two trays of the finished product, cupcakes iced with a snowy swirls of cream cheese frosting, each topped with a perfectly proportioned peach rosebud. Teddy’s hands were steady and his eyes intent as he carefully piped a perfect little rosebud onto a metal disc, then used a metal spatula to place it on a cupcake.
“Whew!” he said. “Last one.”
“Teddy, they’re gorgeous. Where’d you learn to do this?”
“Momma made birthday cakes for all the kids in the neighborhood. I used her hummingbird cake recipe. It has pineapple, bananas, toasted pecans, and extra coconut.”
“The man knows his pastry,” Calvin said, dipping his head in homage. “Teddy, next time I have to edit a baking book, think I could hire you to test recipes?”
“I don’t know. Depends on how much you’re paying,” Teddy said without a trace of irony, then slipped his plain black apron over his head and laid it on the counter. “I’ve got to walk the dogs and change my clothes. I’m going to the movies with Gloria Jean and Wayne. You going to be all right here?”
“No worries,” Calvin said. “I’ve got this. Celia can help me.”
Calvin turned his attention back to the groceries. Teddy slipped a hand into the pocket of his jeans. The dogs hopped to their feet, tails thumping, hoping for a treat. Instead, Teddy pulled out a plastic packet and pressed it into my hand.
“What’s this?” I asked.
“Earplugs,” he whispered. “I like Calvin. But his taste in music?” Teddy shuddered. “Try to get him into Billie Eilish or even Lady Gaga. Somebody cool.”
I pocketed the plugs. “Calvin really, really likes Britney.”
“Yeah, I know,” Teddy said, giving an enormous eye roll before grabbing two leashes and making his exit, the dogs padding along in his wake.
Calvin was using my apron—yellow cotton with blue butterflies and flowering vines—so I put on Teddy’s plain black one, then washed my hands.
“Scullery maid, reporting for duty, Chef,” I said, touching two fingers to my forehead. “What do you want me to do?”
“I’m promoting you to sous-chef. Why don’t you finish washing the salad greens and then massage the kale? I’ll grate the cheese.”
“Massage the kale?”
“You know,” Calvin said, in a tone that suggested I was being deliberately obtuse, “with olive oil and salt? So it’ll be tender?”
I did not know but Calvin explained the procedure, then unwrapped the Gruyère. I took his place at the sink and put the earplugs on the counter where they’d be easy to reach, just in case. Calvin likes his music loud, but today he left Britney in the background, and for a while, we worked without saying anything.
Sometimes I save up funny phrases or observations just especially, because making Calvin laugh feels a little like winning a prize. But the real test of friendship, I think, is when you don’t need to impress each other, when occupying the same space without saying a word is the place you most want to be.
I finished washing the greens, then poured a few glugs of olive oil and a sprinkle of salt onto the kale, thinking how happy I was that Calvin had come down to visit and how much fun the baby shower was going to be. Calvin worked the cheese grater, pausing only to pull the turnovers from the oven when the timer went off, thinking whatever he was thinking, until the Gruyère was shredded into a fluffy mountain and the kitchen smelled like a fondue shop. When that was done, he took a pitcher of tea from the tightly crammed refrigerator, filled two glasses, handed one to me, and said something I wasn’t expecting.
“I’m proud of you.”
“You are? Why?” I was doing a pretty good job massaging