“Yes, Momma,” Beau responds without missing a beat, heading toward the stove to take their mother’s place.
“Such a good boy who knows better than to disappoint his momma.” She pats his arm before turning to Alise. “Both of you do.”
Alise completely ignores her; the way her cheeks pink slightly is the only sign she heard any of their exchange. The kitchen continues to move like a well-practiced storm.
Beau is at the stove stirring something under Mrs. Mel’s supervision. Ramona is slicing tomatoes at the island, while Cole maims a bell pepper with theatrical confidence. Although every time he tries to sneak a slice into his mouth, Ramona slaps his hand away and mutters, “Michele said ‘no chaos’ tonight.”
I file the name away, pretending to know who Michele is, as I scan the room, confused.
“Where’s Cooper?”
“Banished.” Ramona snorts.
From a room off to the left of the kitchen entrance, Cooper’s voice erupts with righteous indignation. “I’m not banished. I was providing structure to the chaos.”
Mrs. Mel doesn’t even turn. “You were micromanaging the garlic, baby. Now hush.”
“I wasn’t micromanaging anything. I was offeringguidance!”
“You tried to take the spoon out of my hand,” Beau calls back.
“You told him his stirring lacked leadership,” Alise adds.
“It did!” Cooper yells. “The garlic deserves conviction!”
“This is him calm.” Kyle leans in as I press my lips together to keep from laughing.
“You gonna finish setting that table?” Momma hollers.
“I already did,” Cooper responds sheepishly. “Twice.”
“Then do it again,” Momma says. “You missed the water glasses.”
“I was getting to that.”
Ramona sighs like this is completely normal. “We’re hoping table duty keeps him occupied for five minutes.”
“It won’t,” Kyle mutters.
“Okay,” I say, scanning the room because this is a crisis scene waiting to happen. “Please tell me someone has a list of assignments. This feels like a situation that needs a flowchart.”
Everyone stops just long enough to look at me before Cole mutters, “That’s the hottest thing anyone’s ever said in this kitchen.”
Mrs. Mel whips her towel at him. “Boy, hush.”
“Balance is important, Momma,” Cole says. “You wouldn’t understand.”
“Balance is exactly what I understand,” I say automatically.
The words leave my mouth before I can stop them, and suddenly, every pair of eyes in the room is on me, amused and interested. Heat creeps up the back of my neck as I clear my throat. “I mean, I work in PR. Optics and balance are kind of my thing.”
“My God,” Cole says, turning to Kyle. “You really found your perfect match. She speaks fluent overthinking.”
“Shut up,” Kyle says mildly, then gives me a sidelong look that does something strange to my pulse. “You don’t have to work, Torres. You’re a guest.”
“I don’t know how to be a guest,” I admit, so quietly I’m not sure anyone hears it.
Mrs. Mel’s gaze softens as she comes toward me, bumping Cole out of the way. “You can finish cutting the vegetables, since this one is doing a terrible job at it.”
