The second the paper tears enough for me to glimpse the worn floral pattern of an old hardcover cookbook, something inside me trips and stumbles. My throat tightens as I carefully rip the rest of the paper off.
The cover is faded from years of kitchen steam and sunlight, but my mother’s handwriting still stands out in the center.
Ellis Family Favorites.
The room goes fuzzy around the edges as my eyes sting.
“I found it in one of Bodie’s boxes of old books,” Erin says softly, suddenly less smug and more gentle. “He probably accidently took it home with his homework one day or something because he’s a doofus like that. A loveable one, of course.”
“I didn’t know I still had it,” Bodie says, sounding genuinely stricken. “I swear, man. If I’d realized—”
I shake my head before he can finish, still staring down at the book. “It’s okay. Really. I just…”
As I thumb through the pages, my breath catches when I see all the notes left in the margins. Little scribbles in her handwriting.
Add more cinnamon.
Jackson approved.
Too spicy for Bodie.
My laugh breaks halfway out, wobbly and uneven.
“The recipe for your mom’s red velvet is in there.” Erin’s gaze snaps to Isaac, a perfectly angelic smile on her face. “Not that this isn’t absolutely delicious, Professor Kendall.”
Isaac chuckles before he slides his hand to my knee, giving it a gentle squeeze to ground me. I peer up at him, and his beautiful, bright smile helps to steady me further.
“We can make some of these?” I ask, trying and failing to keep my voice from trembling.
“Of course we can,” he says. “We’ll make them all if you want.”
Around us, wrapping paper lies scattered like confetti. My dad pretends he’s not watching me too closely while Bodie and Erin hover, waiting to see if I’m okay.
And I am. I’m better than okay.
“Thank you, Erin,” I tell her. “I know I’m not supposed to say what my favorite gift was out loud, but…”
She winks. “Told you emotional preparedness was required.”
I clutch the cookbook to my chest like I’m holding a piece of my mom.
And now I get to share her with Isaac.
I think she would’ve loved him too.
The house is finally quietas Isaac and I carry the last few dirty dishes into the kitchen, frosting smeared across the rims of ceramic plates and forks balanced precariously on top of the stack. I set everything on the counter and glance out the window above the sink without really meaning to.
Everyone just left, but Bodie and my dad are still standing at the end of the driveway between Erin’s Nissan and my dad’s BMW. Bodie is rigid, his shoulders squared, his hands cutting through the air as he talks. My dad faces him, jaw tight, responding in a clipped way with his head bowed like he’s worried someone might hear. Whatever it is makes Bodie’s mouth twist in a way that sits strangely on his usually carefree face. He snaps something back, short and angry, then turns away like he’s done with the whole conversation.
I’m pretty sure I could count the number of times I’ve seen Bodie that mad on one hand. And probably not even use all my fingers.
He stalks to the passenger side of Erin’s car and yanks the door open. He drops inside where Erin’s already waiting behind the wheel and slams the door hard enough that the sound carries even through the closed window.
My dad lingers where he is, watching them drive away. He rubs a hand over the back of his neck, then turns for his own car. When he finally drives off, his taillights disappear faster than usual.
I frown at the empty street through the window, a knot forming low in my stomach. I don’t know what I just saw, but I know it wasn’t nothing.
Isaac steps up beside me and turns on the water in the sink. The familiar sounds of the running tap and the clinking of ceramic pull me back inside. I pick up one of the dirty plates and a sponge, still distracted.
