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“Rescue, Frolic.”

I dip my spoon into Gage’s mashed potatoes. He stiffens. “So, this farm is basically your cat supplier?”

Maisie gives me a flat look. “Don’t make it weird. Like you’re doing now.” She points at my trespassing spoon.

Gage and I share a glance, and I flash her a grin. “Pretty sure you’ve seen a lot weirder from us.”

“The weird part is that he lets you keep your fingers.”

I steal another bite. “I’m slowly chipping away at his control-freak tendencies.”

“You’re slowly chipping away at my patience,” Gage snorts.

“See?” I kiss his cheek. “Progress.”

Between Nana Noreene fussing over my plate, his mother laughing, and Maisie threatening me with her eyes, I’m having the best time of my life.

I learn Gage’s father died when he was young, and afterward, his mother moved the children back here with Nana and Grandpa. It’s clear they’ve lived with the sadness long enough to become part of the architecture rather than an open wound. Before he passed, his grandfather taught Gage soil, chickens, repairs, and apparently how to swear creatively when farm equipment refused to cooperate.

“And I taught him real baking,” Nana Noreene adds.

Gage sets his fork down on his empty plate. “Here we go.”

She waves a hand. “Pie. Biscuits. Bread. Things people actually eat.”

He cocks his head. “I make things people eat, too.”

Nana Noreene purses her lips, unimpressed. “You make pastries that require rulers.”

Gage strokes his beard. “They require precision.”

“They require therapy.”

I nearly choke on my drink. Gage pats my back, muttering about disrespect in his own childhood home.

Paula tells me about Maisie arriving as a young teenager, refusing to trust anybody while attracting every farm cat within a three-mile radius. “They followed her everywhere.”

“Because cats recognize quality,” Maisie replies.

“She spent more nights in the barn than in her own bed,” Gage says, cleaning the rest of his plate.

Maisie straightens. “They were emotionally available.”

I laugh so hard, my stomach hurts.

I learn Maisie spent her first year turning the barn into a feline emergency ward, with Gage pulling night shifts beside her.

When the dishes are finally cleared, Nana Noreene announces, “Now? We settle it.”

Gage sits straighter. Paula groans fondly. “Every year.”

“Settle what?” I wonder.

Nana and Gage exchange the same competitive stare. Oh no. Gage rises, and I barely turn before a blindfold settles over my eyes.

“Um…am I being executed? I promise I won’t eat off your plate again.”

He laughs. “Not an execution, Jules.” He finishes the knot and kisses my cheek.