Page 74 of Single Chance

I might’ve made my life a mess, but there wasn’t anyone I’d rather be in this mess with than this woman.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Rowan

For better or worse, I was beginning to feel at home in Chance’s house. At home for now, maybe? Who knew where I’d land in the future or what my life would look like? I tried not to worry about it. One thing at a time, my grandmother would’ve told me.

That one thing at this moment was lasagna, baking in the oven, smelling like heaven and memories.

Chance was out with his dad group for the evening. Sam was in the basement. I’d worked up the guts and the energy to attempt Gram’s lasagna recipe—cut in half—for the first time by myself. I’d helped her plenty of times growing up. I had memories of standing on a kitchen chair so I could reach the counter, layering the cooked noodles over the other ingredients.

The last time Gram had cooked homemade lasagna for me was my twenty-third birthday. As we’d taken our first few bites, she’d realized she’d forgotten to add the garlic, and we’d laughed and laughed. Looking back now, with twenty-twenty hindsight, I was sure that’d been an early sign of her dementia, though we’d had no idea what had been ahead of us then.

Not knowing was probably a blessing.

I realized I had a sad smile on my face as I stood against the kitchen cabinet thinking about her. I chose to cling to the laughter part of the memory. The love. Not the early stages of disease or the beginning of the end.

Footsteps on the stairs jolted me to the present. The basement door swung open, and Sam peered at me from the top step.

“What is that incredible smell?” she asked, then entered the kitchen.

I smiled, surprised at her appearance and warmed by her compliment. “I’m attempting my grandmother’s lasagna recipe.”

“If it tastes like it smells, it’s a really good recipe.”

The one thing I was sure of was that I remembered the garlic. “You’re helping me eat it, right?”

Her expression was a mix of shyness and eagerness as she asked, “You have enough to share?”

I went to the oven and opened it a crack to show her a small baking dish of Italian splendor. “I have enough. I hope it doesn’t suck.” I shut the oven to let it bake another couple of minutes.

“My dad will be sad he missed this. Lasagna is his favorite.”

I found it telling she thought of her dad so readily. Chance might think his daughter hated him, but that said otherwise.

“If it tastes okay, maybe I’ll make a full batch one of these days,” I said. “This was a test run. I didn’t want to spend hours making it for you guys and have it not turn out.”

The timer went off. I ended it and grabbed the oven mitts.

Sam took two plates from the cabinet as I pulled the bubbling pan out of the oven and set it on the stove.

The lasagna pan was hot, so we scooped up servings at the stove. I wondered if Sam would retreat to the basement with her food, but she didn’t. She sat at the table with me, and we dug in to our dinner—which incidentally tasted just like Gram’s,the garlic version. If I closed my eyes, I could imagine my grandmother at the table with us.

“This is delicious. It’s your grandma’s recipe?” Sam asked.

“Yeah. We made it together when I was a kid, but I haven’t tried it solo.”

Sam watched me, then tilted her head and said, “Is she…?”

“She died in December.”

“I’m sorry,” Sam said. She brushed stray strands of her hair behind her ear, then forked another bite. “That’s so recent.”

“Yeah.” I forced a bittersweet smile. “In some ways it seems like last week, but also, it feels like an eternity since I’ve hugged her.”

“It’s been years since I could hug my mom.”

“I bet you still miss her,” I said carefully. I acted as if this was normal for us, trying to seem low-key and nonchalant even as I was encouraged and hopeful at the chance to connect.

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