any justice. She’s an older, female version of Brett, with the same red blonde hair and the same big eyes. Their only difference is that she’s tiny; Brett must have gotten his height from his dad. She lets me take her in for a couple of seconds, my eyes darting over her frame as a huge, welcoming smile crosses her face. “Abigail, hello! Welcome.”
I’m suddenly shy. “Thank you for having me, Mrs. Sanderson.”
“Of course. I’ve been looking forward to meeting you.” She comes over and gives me a big hug, and I’m so surprised by her friendliness that I almost miss what she says next. “I’ve heard so much about you.”
Almost, but not quite. My eyes dart to Brett, who reddens slightly. “Mom.”
She chuckles. “Sorry, sorry. I’ll stop.” She winks at me conspiratorially. “He hates it when I embarrass him.”
I don’t think I’ve ever come close to seeing Brett embarrassed before.
“Mom,” Brett moans again.
She shakes her head, and then her eyes fix on the flowers that are still in my hand. “Are those for me?”
Oh. “Yes.” I hold them out. “Thank you for having me.”
Her face lights up. “That’s so lovely of you.”
I smile back at her, liking her even more in this moment. She just seems so warm, like a mom should be.
“Is it ready yet?” Brett asks, clearly bored of us and looking past us to the food.
“Just about,” his mom says, and Brett moves to the table, pulling out a chair. I’m about to follow him when his mom leans over to me just slightly. “He’s trying to act casual, but he made me promise three times to make the fried chicken because he said you like it, and he set the table an hour ago and keeps coming back to fiddle with it.”
I stare back at her in astonishment. I mentioned that once weeks ago when moaning about dieting and missing fried chicken. “He did?”
She winks back at me, and I’m just about to open my mouth, not having a clue what I’m about to say but wanting more details from her about what she just told me, when Brett interrupts us.
“What are you guys talking about?”
We both look over at him, and he’s watching us suspiciously.
“Nothing at all, Brett,” his mom replies, moving away from me. “How about you serve while I put these flowers in water.”
He springs into action, grabbing serving dishes as I just stand there, lost in my own thoughts, thinking about what his mom just said.
He wanted to make sure his mom cooked my favorite meal so he pestered her three times? And he went to the trouble of setting the table for me?
Pigs are going to start flying next.
It’s basically the most delicious homecooked meal I think I’ve ever had. I originally took smaller portions because there was no way the mashed potatoes could taste that good without loads of butter and cream in them, but I soon decided to ignore every warning my mother has ever given me about carbs and them sticking to my hips when I found out just how great the food tasted.
I ate fried chicken, mashed potatoes, green beans, and salad, had a second serving, and honestly probably would have had a third if it weren’t for the fact that Brett’s mom mentioned apple pie. I had that served hot with vanilla ice cream.
Seriously! Homemade apple pie. Who even makes that anymore?
No wonder it’s an American classic.
I could happily sit in this kitchen forever in a food coma, but the second I’ve put my spoon down and finished my dessert, Brett is reminding me why I’m actually here and is ordering me into the living room to start studying.
He leads me back in and completely ignores the small desk in the corner which is littered with books (another thing I liked about that meal is that we just ate in the kitchen, surrounded by the mess of the cooking and the heat from the stove, and we laughed and we joked and conversation flowed), and instead dumps his books onto the small coffee table in front of the TV.
I reluctantly grab my own books and slump down next to him.
He glances over at me.
“Ready?”
“I’m so full,” I moan. I am. I could take a nap right now.
“That’s because you ate everything in sight.”
“I know,” I moan back. “I’m going to be the size of a whale tomorrow, but it was worth every calorie.”
He rolls his eyes. “You and your calories.”
“It was so good.”
“She’s a good