With an exaggerated gasp, he teases me. “Need any coffee to go with that sugar?”
“Oh, hush. I like my coffee sweet.”
“That’s not coffee, honey. That’s a sugar rush in a cup.”
I scowl. I never used to be self-conscious about my sweet coffee fix, but since my last director shamed me about my weight gain in front of the cast and demanded I cut back on calories, I’ve been acutely aware of it.
“Look at you two—a bickering old married couple already.” Dawn leans into me, her lips quirked up on one side. “Don’t let his comment get to you. This big guy’s got a giant sweet tooth.”
The way his mom calls him “big guy” makes me chuckle.
“She’s right,” he says. “But I don’t drink coffee.”
I rear back and slap a hand to my chest. “Excuse me, what? I think we need a divorce.”
With a huff, he rolls his eyes. “Ha ha.”
“No, seriously. You’re a teacher. How do you wake up so early, then have the energy to deal with children all day?”
“I prefer black tea.”
“Oh, so you still have caffeine. Not a total psychopath. Got it.” I grin over the top of my mug. “But wait. I’ve seen you drink coffee before. In Greece.”
Tentatively, he studies me. “During my last depressive episode, I developed an aversion to it.” He shrugs.
Dawn pours herself a cup of coffee with a splash of oat milk, then ushers me over to the table already set for three.
From my seat, I have the perfect view of Ezra when he slides on oven mitts and pulls a casserole dish from the oven. Instantly, the hints of orange and almond compound until the apartment is thick with the saccharine scent.
“It smells delicious. What is it?”
“French toast casserole. Made with challah bread.” He sets the dish on a hot plate in the center of the table.
Color me impressed.
When the three of us are served, I’m the first to speak. “So, Dawn, are you cool with this thing we’re doing?”
“You mean lying to my ex?” Her eyes light up. “Yes, darling, I’m more than okay with it. I wish my son would tell him to stick it where the Hawaiian sun don’t shine, but I understand why he wants you there.”
“And why is that?” I turn to Ezra. “Whyme?”
The man beside me could have any woman in New York City, yet he’s asked me.
“Because you’re a talented actress.”
A hint of something that feels like disappointment scratches at the back of my mind, but I ignore the sensation. “How would you know?”
He side-eyes his mom, then sheepishly lowers his focus to the table. “I may have seen you in action.”
“What?”
His expression is earnest when he meets my eye. “When you were inMamma Mia.”
“You saw that?”
“We both did,” Dawn pipes in. “You were fabulous. Absolutely fabulous.”
I’m stunned into silence. And extremely flattered. Ezra’s mom is delightful. “Thank you,” I beam. “So, Dawn, what do I need to know about my husband?”
