Cash chewed his first bite, his eyes closing in pleasure. He tucked in for a second and then a third. Maggie shifted her gaze to James and found that half his chicken was gone.
Cash glanced up from his plate. He saw that she wasn’t eating and paused with his fork in the air. “Did you poison it?”
“What?” Maggie blurted.
James stopped eating—watching the two of them with a deep level of interest.
“You’re not eating.” He dropped his fork. “Are you trying to kill me so you inherit the house?”
“W-what?! I can’t believe you—Of all the rotten—” She sputtered out the first half of every insult that came to mind.
James chuckled, quickly covering his mouth with a napkin. He speared a piece of asparagus and chewed with exaggeration. “What a way to go.”
Maggie flipped back to Cash. The white sugar sprinkles against a gray background in his eyes sparkled with mischief. It took her a moment to wade past her insecurities and realize he wasn’t insulting her cooking. “You shouldn’t tease me about food.” She grabbed the edge of Cash’s plate and started to pull it away from him. “Or you won’t get any more.” She smiled, hoping he knew she was teasing him back.
Wait … wasn’t teasing another form of flirting? Shoot. Had she just flirted with him? It didn’t matter. Unintentional flirting didn’t count in the scheme of things.
Wait another second! Had he flirted with her? Her mind spun with the possibilities.
Cash wrapped a large hand around the side of his plate and held it in place. “My apologies to the chef.”
She withdrew her arm, tucking it under the table. “I’m not a chef. Just an internet blogger with a box of her great-grandmother’s recipes.”
James’s plate was almost empty.
“Do you like it?” she asked him. It was easier to talk to James, who felt like a younger brother, than to look at Cash, who felt like danger and hot sauce all wrapped up in one.
James carefully scooped up the last three pieces of rice. “Best thing I ever ate.”
She grinned. The way he ate every last drop was a testament to his words and did good things to her confidence. “There’s more, if you’d like some.”
“I would.” Cash was cutting chicken and spearing asparagus as fast as he could. “It’s delicious, Maggie. If all your recipes are this good, your book will sell like doughnuts.”
Maggie wrinkled her nose. “Doughnuts? I think the phrase is ‘they’ll sell like hotcakes.’”
Cash wrinkled his nose, teasing her again but in the way he had where he wasn’t afraid to look silly. “Who wants hot cake? Give me a hot doughnut and I’m in heaven.”
James patted his stomach. “Amen.”
Maggie stood and grabbed the chicken pan, placing another piece on each of their plates. “I think Grams had a recipe for doughnuts—it has mashed potatoes in it.”
Cash shrugged. “If they’re half as good as this—” He used his fork to point at the food Maggie piled on his plate. “—then I’ll eat a half dozen myself.”
“Mefoo,” James said around a mouthful.
Maggie settled back in her chair and took up her knife and fork. “I’ll look into it. I’m trying to adapt the recipes to the time—or lack of time—families have these days to cook. The thing with women back then was that their day revolved around meals. They were constantly planning and baking and kneading and going to the market. Feeding a family was a full-time job just because it took so long to make things from scratch.”
She took a breath and glanced back and forth between the men, expecting to see their eyes glazed over. But they were listening to her every word. Maybe they were afraid she’d take away their food. Oh, the power of a home-cooked meal.
Flapping a hand, she blushed. “Listen to me go on. You guys probably don’t care.”
Cash swallowed and took a sip from his water glass. “Are you going to put all that history stuff in the book?”
It was her turn to pause with her fork halfway to her mouth. “I wasn’t planning on it.”
A small line appeared between his eyebrows. “But it’s interesting. I know family dynamics have changed over time, but some things are important enough to hang on to.”
“Like this recipe,” James chimed in. “It’s got to be in the book.”
