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“Do I look like I want my food tasting like dish soap, girl?” She snatches the soap from my hand like it’s the plague, and I can almost hear her teeth grinding. “You rinse ’em with vinegar. That’s how you get all the dirt off. Not with a damn scrub brush and dish soap.”

I blink at her for a moment, still processing, then throw my hands up in the air. “You could’ve fucking told me that before I started!”

“Not my job to babysit you fool.” She shoves the vinegar bottle into my hands. “Now do it right.”

After rewashing the greens we sit silently at the kitchen table just staring at one another.

“So, Marie’s back, I hear.”

“Yeah.”

“I heard you wiped the floor with her at the bar.”

“I did.”

Aunt Joe lets out a small grunt of approval, a hint of a smile tugging at her weathered face. “Good. Someone needed to.”

“Thanks.”

“Soph know?”

“Hell no, let’s keep it that way.”

She nods. “Say no more.”

There’s a pause, the kind that stretches just long enough to get uncomfortable. Aunt Joe shifts in her chair, her gaze steady now—less casual, more knowing.

“But that’s not why you’re here, is it?”

I look at her. Try to speak. Try to force the words past the tightness in my throat, but they won’t come. They sit there, heavy and knotted, too raw to name out loud.

Her voice softens, but the edge is still there. “What’s wrong, Lou? Cat got your tongue?”

Like a light flip switching the old memory flickers to life—my daddy’s voice, low and teasing, rising up from some deep, buried place. Like he’s still here. Like he’s leaning in through her mouth to say it himself.

It hits harder than I expect. Makes me feel small and seen all at once.

Still, I can’t speak.

The timer on the stove dings, ending the back and forth before I can really say anything. I move to help Aunt Joe set the table and then freeze, my eyes landing on the spread she’s laid out. Smothered pork chops, fried potatoes, greens, and homemade yeast rolls—my favorites. I’m so surprised I almost forget to breathe for a second. How did she know?

“Wipe that face off your head,” she scolds before handing me a plate piled high. “I know what the hell you like to eat.”

I take my plate and sit patiently waiting for her to take her place beside me. Once we’re both seated I dig in, not pausing for idle chit chat. I’m on my second plate when she damn near makes me choke.

“So, you can’t have kids. Big fucking whoop.”

The porkchop I was chewing lodges in my fucking throat. “What the fuck!”

“I know damn good and well Maggie didn’t raise you to be so daft,” she sasses, crossing her arms over her chest. “I swear you and Maddox are going to put me in an early fucking grave.”

“You knew didn’t you?” I question her.

“Yeah, you're easier to read than you think.”

I fucking knew it. Can’t hide shit from her.

“I told Maggie last night,” I say softly.