I burst out laughing, cheeks flushed. “Good to know. Maybe this’ll help my odds then.”
Maureen smiles, pretending not to hear the rest. “Okay, moving on before this conversation gets any more personal.”
She slides a big bowl my way. “You measure out the ketchup—two cups.”
I tip the bottle and instantly regret my confidence. It splatters across the counter and straight onto the recipe card.
“Oh no!” I gasp, grabbing a paper towel.
Addison’s already laughing. “It’s fine. You’re just seasoning the instructions.”
Maureen wipes it clean, still smiling. “Cooking’s messy, sweetheart. That’s half the fun.”
I manage to pour the rest without incident, and she starts guiding me through each addition—brown sugar, vinegar,Worcestershire, garlic powder, onion powder, and a little mustard.
The smell changes fast. Sweet and tangy with a bite to it. I stir it, watching the color darken, and blink in surprise. “Okay, this actually smells…incredible.”
“Doesn’t it?” Maureen says proudly. “Here, taste it.”
I dip the tip of the spoon in it and take a lick. My eyes widen. “Oh wow!”
Addison leans against the counter, smirking. “See, Meg? Being a Jennings ain’t that hard.”
“Just a little intimidating is all.” I laugh breathily, still tasting the sweet tang of the sauce.
When I first went to his family’s house for dinner, I was shocked at how much food was homemade. I thought it was just because it was Christmas—but no. Every single meal at that table could qualify as a holiday dinner.
The rolls? Addison made them from scratch. I remember her leaning over to ask how they turned out because she thought they might not have risen long enough. Risen. Like that was something normal people worry about.
Then there was the ham—whole, bone-in, glazed, carved at the table like a scene out of a Southern magazine spread. Even the green bean casserole wasn’t spared. They grew the green beans themselves. Who even does that?
I glance down at my sauce again, half proud, half terrified. “If Mason expects me to cook like this every night, he’s going to be pretty disappointed.”
Addison snorts. “Trust me, he can’t expect you to cook like Mom. None of us can cook like Mom.”
Maureen laughs from the stove, stirring another pan. “That’s not true. You do just fine.”
Addison arches a brow. “Mom, I undercooked banana muffins again last week.”
Maureen waves her off. “Accidents happen.”
Addison looks to me. “If all else fails, just make him biscuits. Wesley loses his mind when I make homemade biscuits.”
Maureen chimes in, “So does Leonard. Biscuits and gravy with a side of bacon…he’s a goner.”
I can’t stop laughing. “So, food really is the way to their heart.”
Maureen hums. “Food, faith, and a little patience. Not always in that order.”
“Well,” I say, smiling to myself, “at least I’ve got the second two figured out.”
Maureen’s halfway through wiping the counter when her phone starts ringing on the island. She glances at the screen. “It’s Cody.”
She wipes her hands on her apron and swipes to answer. “Hey, hon.”
Addison and I both look up when her tone shifts.
“What do you mean she’s not sure?” Maureen says, one hand on her hip. “Is she timing them?”
