“Already on it.”
The oven roars to life twenty minutes later and he stands with that smug look on his face that says he nailed it. He fiddles with the knobs, sticking his hand into the oven every once in a while, and with every movement he seems more and more satisfied.
He turns the gauges, waits, and then nods. He pushes buttons, waits, and then nods. It’s a whole pattern he works through before he closes the oven door. Then Knox stands and wipes his hands on a rag as he turns to me.
“There,” he says. “Lia can run two ovens at once in here now. You happy?”
I nod once as I reach over and turn off all the gauges and knobs. “Yes.”
He watches me for a beat, then smirks. “You’re in trouble.”
“Fix your mouth,” I say flatly.
He laughs and shoulders his bag. “Call me if you need anything else. I’m gonna go take a look at your trolley outside.”
“I won’t.”
“Sure, you will.”
He leaves while whistling, and I’m alone again with my thoughts in the quiet hum of the kitchen. I wipe the counters down to remove whatever fine layer of dust may be sitting there. I pull a mixer out of one of the cabinets and use it to check all of the outlets to make sure they’re all operational. I even make sure the walk-in fridge is on and holding temperature the way it should.
I’m just about to check the cabinets and make sure there’s no weird surprises hiding to greet Lia when I hear a familiar sound.
Laughter.
Soft, and lilting.
I freeze.
Is that… my mother?
Sure enough, I hear the clicking of her heels and the dodder of my father’s patent leather shoes against the stone flooring before his voice filters into the kitchen.
“Looks like you’re hard at work, as always, son.”
Walker
Ican’t help the grin that slides across my face. “I learned it from somewhere.”
I turn toward the sound of my parents’ footsteps, smiling at the clicking of my mother’s heels. I swear, that woman wears heels no matter the occasion. She could be cooking a pot roast dinner on a Sunday afternoon and have her house heels on.
My father breaches the doorway of the kitchen first. I nod to Marcus, a silent “thank you” for ushering them to me. But they can’t stay long.
I have to get them out of here before Lia and Eli show up.
My mother follows in behind my father, standing just inside the doorway, perfectly put together as always. Her gaze flicks from the counters to the ovens to me. My father hovers behind her, his hands clasped behind his back as he surveys the kitchen with an approving nod.
“You’ve always been incapable of standing still,” my father says mildly. “Even as a boy.”
My mother hums. “Especially as a boy.”
I walk over and give my mother a kiss on her cheek. “What are you two doing here? I figured you’d be halfway to Charleston by now.”
“We were,” my mother says. “Then we realized we hadn’t said goodbye properly.”
My father chuckles as he embraces me for a back-patting hug. “And your mother wanted to make sure you were eating.”
“I eat,” I say flatly.
