“Can’t tell you, but it’s a secret family recipe.” My grandmother on my mom’s side used to make it before she passed, and it was a staple in my childhood. It’s green beans mixed with a creamy garlic parmesan sauce and actual bacon pieces in it, and she always made it for me because of my love of bacon.
When my grandmother died, my mother gave me the recipe card, and I always make it on Thanksgiving. It’s the dish I bring to the team gatherings, or sometimes I just stay home and make it for myself since I can’t exactly fly home to be with my family given my career.
And that’s why I happen to have all the ingredients on hand.
“What can I help with?” I ask.
“Besides your gross green beans, can you peel the potatoes?”
I shoot her a glare. “Hey, don’t judge them until you’ve tried them.”
She giggles. “Yes, chef.”
“Your mom is bringing sweet potatoes, and your brother’s bringing pies, right?” I ask.
She nods. “Yep. I need to toast the bread for my stuffing, too.”
“I can help.” We maneuver together around my kitchen, working in sync as we prepare the rather large meal. I move to put on some music, but she stops me.
“No music?” I ask.
She shakes her head. “Parade. Always the background sound of Thanksgiving. And after the parade, the dog show.” She claps her hands together, and I remember her always having a soft spot for dogs.
I remember everything about her, and my feelings continue to grow despite everything.
It’s been nearly two weeks since that kiss, over a week that we’ve co-owned the manor, and itstillhasn’t come up.
I want to do it again.
I haven’t. I’m not sure the feeling is reciprocal.
“Are you excited to spend time with your family?” I ask instead, trying to make safe conversation that has nothing to do with kissing.
“I haven’t seen Colton and Layla since Maddox’s baptism,” she says. “That was, oh…April. So seven months ago. Gosh, I bet Maddox has gottensobig since then. My parents came to Vegas to celebrate my birthday with me back in June, so still five months ago. It’s always a good time to see them.”
“Are you nervous?” I ask.
“How could you tell?”
I chuckle. “Because I’ve never seen an onion chopped as fine as that one.”
She blows out a breath. “I haven’t told them Archer and I broke up,” she admits.
“Why not?”
She lifts a shoulder as she sets down the knife. “I don’t know. I guess because it’s beensoon and off for us all these years, and I didn’t want to hear the comments.Again?For how long this time? You know, that kind of garbage. I don’t know how to express that it really is over this time.”
“Is it?” I ask.
She lets out a frustrated sigh. “Not you, too.”
“No, not me. I’m just trying to understand where your head’s at so I can help you with them.” I tell myself that’s true. I ignore the nagging thought about how it’s really for my own information.
“Yes, it is.” Her voice is quiet, and she stares down at the onion while she talks. “It was over a long time ago, Ford. But after a while, if things aren’t moving forward, and they’re notmoving backward, you’re just sort of stuck. And we were stuck a long time. We were content, doing our own thing, not really communicating, not really together even though we were still together. So, in a lot of ways that are important to me, it feels like I’ve already moved on. But it’s the optics, you know? They’ll see that wejustbroke up, and they’ll assume it means we’ll get back together, and it’s just…not a conversation I want to have today.”
“Then tell them you’ve moved on,” I suggest simply.
“With who?”
