Pushing back from the table, I pick up my plate and cast a glance at the Anderson’s across from me. “I’m going to see if I can help the ladies in the kitchen. Enjoy your day, Mr. and Mrs. Anderson.”
As I’m walking away, I hear Mrs. Anderson say, “Don’t tell me to stop meddling. He’d be perfect for Britt.”
Laughing softly to myself, I round the corner and come into the kitchen. Louisa’s holding a large bowl and Addison is spooning scrambled eggs into it. “Those boys eat like, well, just what they are. Teenage boys.” Louisa passes me, the steam from the hot eggs wafting around her, and says, “If only rice were a breakfast food.”
She keeps going and disappears around the corner.
“Need any help in here?” I ask Addison. She’s standing at a long griddle set up on the counter, flipping bacon.
“Please,” she says, nodding gratefully. “Watch this bacon and make sure it doesn’t burn.” She hands me a pair of tongs. “I need to get the muffins out of the oven.”
“Nice move with those muffins, by the way.” I push a slice of bacon with the edge of the tongs. I’m not really sure what I’m supposed to be doing here. When I offered to help, I’d hoped I’d be given the job of cleaning or carrying something.
Addison grins proudly while she slips her hands into big, black oven mitts and opens the oven. She pulls out two pans with fresh carrot muffins and slides them onto the cooktop.
The scent is phenomenal and overpowers the smell the scrambled eggs left behind. I turn my attention back to my task.
“How exactly do I avoid burning bacon?”
Addison gives me an exasperated look. “Brady, have you seriously never cooked bacon?”
I shake my head. “I’ve hardly cooked at all.”
She sets one hand, still encased in an oven mitt, on her hip. “Who did the cooking at your house?”
“My mom and dad both cook now, but when I was a kid, we had someone come in and prepare meals.”
Addison gapes. I don’t blame her. I know how posh it sounds. “My dad worked all the time, and my mom was constantly busy doing charity work and whatever else it was she did.” Come to think of it, I didn’t pay much attention to what she spent her time on. I was too busy getting good grades and staying out of any and all trouble.
“What did your dad do for work?” Addison asks as she uses a fork to gingerly lift each muffin from the tin and place it on the tray.
“He was a federal judge until recently. He’s retired now.”
Addison pauses to glance at me, her eyes wide. “Your dad was a federal judge? That’s a really big job.”
I nod. “Yep.”
Addison’s mischievous smirk is back. “Did he ever use his pull to get you out of trouble?”
I press my lips together, thinking about a situation with Lennon’s stepdad.
“Once, yeah.”
Addison’s face lights up. She sets the last of the fresh muffins on the tray and lifts it.
“Hold that thought. I want to hear all about it.” She hustles out and I look back down, remembering I had a job to do.
Oh shit. I think the bacon might be burned. The sides are tinged a darker brown than they should be, and the smell is more bitter than mouth-watering.
I use the tongs to gather all the strips at once and drop the bacon onto a plate. Pushing aside the pieces, I inspect them. They might be salvageable. I was a teenage boy once, I don’t think I would’ve been deterred by too-crispy bacon.
Addison comes back in, scoops up the plate with the bacon, gives me a ‘one-minute’ sign with a single finger, then leaves again. She’s back quickly, throwing herself into a chair at the island and setting two carrot muffins onto the counter.
“They won’t miss two,” she tells me, pushing one over into the counter space in front of the open seat beside her. “And they aren’t carrot muffins.” She peels off the wrapper and takes a bite. “Not really, anyway. They’re carrotcakemuffins. More cake-y than muffin-y.” She bobs her head from side to side as she says it.
She’s so damn cute.
“So,” she says, swallowing her bite. “Come eat a muffin and tell me your story.”
