Page 56 of A Recipe Called Home

“You look stunning. I’ll have to beat all those hormone-riddled teenage boys away with a stick.”

Jules rolled her eyes, grateful he liked the dress. When Miles asked her to be his date as a chaperone to the prom, they both thought of it as a second chance, and she wanted to make the most of it.

Miles grabbed Jules’ hand and spun her around to face him. He held out a white cardboard box for her to open. In it laid a simple corsage made with white roses and silver ribbon. It went perfectly with her dress. He slid it over her wrist and wrapped her arm around her waist so they could admire themselves together in their reflection. Jules loved when Miles dressed up, which didn’t happen often. It reminded her of his many sides that she loved: casual, capable, and self-assured in paint-splattered jeans or a tux, as he wore today.

Grabbing her clutch off their bed, Jules followed Miles to the front door, stopping to take a selfie with Sir-Toots-A-Lot just before leaving, who’d become her sidekick in the months since she moved in.

At first, it felt strange living in a house he’d made his own, but it didn’t take long for her to leave her mark. Now, it perfectly combined his masculine artist energy and her polished, pared down aesthetic; somehow it worked.

As they stepped out onto the wooden front porch, Miles shook his head, laughing. “Jules, not again.”

“What? They needed another friend,” she said, referring to three gnomes, which were only two yesterday, flanking the door. “Don’t pretend you don’t love it,” she teased, bouncing down the steps to his car.

“Ok, but no more. That’s enough now!” He raced after her, smiling.

They met Winnie and Emily at the entrance to the gymnasium, under an enormous banner that read, “Glitz and Glam Galore in 2024.” Three weeks earlier, Emily gave birth to a healthy baby girl, Emmerson, who was now being watched by Barb for their first night out alone.

“How’s my precious goddaughter?” Jules asked, pulling Winnie, then Emily in for a hug.

“Oh, you know, just sleeping and pooping. Living the life,” Emily said through a tired yet contented smile.

Once inside, the two couples kept to the edges of the dancefloor, eyes open for teens smuggling in booze or making out in the dark corners, although Jules wouldn’t discipline any of them. Part of her still felt like the teenage Jules, giddy and nervous to see where the night would take her. Plus, she didn’t work here; it wasn’t her job.

As if the universe heard her thoughts, she felt her phone buzz in her clutch and stepped out the door into a bright hallway to take a call from Julian.

“Hi, Julian, sorry for the noise,” she said, one finger plugging her other ear so she could hear him over the bumping base from the music.

“It’s no problem at all. Sorry for bothering you this late on a Saturday, but I wanted to let you know we have a publisher for the book. They sent the signed contract over this afternoon,” he shouted in her ear.

Over the past nine months, Jules had started writing a regular column for theWashington Postfocused on home cooking. She interviewed chefs, professionals who enjoyed cooking, and even bloggers about the best recipes and ways for feeding yourself and your family when you also worked a full-time job. It was a nice hybrid of what Julian had asked Jules to write and her rediscovered passion.

As a part of the deal, Julian agreed to help find a publisher for the cookbook she pitched using her grandma’s story and recipes.

“That’s amazing news! Thanks for all your help, Julian, sincerely. I couldn’t have done it without you."

“Yes, you could have. But I’m grateful to have a small part,” he said before hanging up.

The night sped by until Jules and Miles got the sappy slow dance they never had years ago. He kissed her, whispered, ‘I love you,’ then dipped her with a playful flourish for the kids.

In that moment, Jules felt her teenage self finally heal—proof that the messy road had indeed led to something beautiful.

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