Page 43 of A Touch of Spring Magic

“Oh, that,” Jessica said, coloring a little.

“You don’t want to talk about it, and yet you say it’s not a family recipe book with top secrets.” Storm passed the salad dressing he’d made with spices, mustard, fig balsamic vinegar and olive oil.

She was impressed with this quick dressing and his clear comfort in the kitchen. She didn’t want to admit to herself why, but she had started compiling more than a few easy-to-make nutritious dinners for Storm to add to his repertoire so that he could help his grandparents with shopping and meal prep when needed.

“I know Southern matriarchs guard their family recipes.”

“True.” Jessica blew on her spoon of soup, when what she really wanted to do was dip the tortilla chips into the queso and then her soup and crunch away. She would have done that if Storm wasn’t here. “Sarah, Meghan and I have tried to pry Grandma Millie’s meat loaf recipe that she used for decades at the diner out of her for years.”

She sipped at her soup and watched fascinated as he dipped a tortilla chip in queso and then scooped out soup and popped the whole thing in his mouth. His eyes widened. He chewed and Jessica waited for his verdict, feeling more nervous than she should.

“Men are lucky,” she groused. “If I ate like that with company, my mom’s head would spin.”

“Scary visual.” Storm laughed. “Your mom is the epitome of a gently reared Southern belle. Absolutely proper. Never a foot out of place. I always thought that must be exhausting.” He repeated his chip, queso, salsa and soup routine and closed his eyes, looking blissed out, and her tummy warmed.

Talk about a traditional female.

She mentally rolled her eyes, imagining how Meghan would kick her behind for worrying about a man’s stomach or his opinion.

He swallowed and stared at her.

“What?” she asked.

“I’m waiting.”

“For what?”

“I don’t know. How does it work? Do I fall to my knees and declare undying love while you run a mile in another direction? That book must pack a punch if you guard it so zealously.”

“I don’t guard it,” she said stiffly because that was exactly what she was doing. “Chloe found it. Rustin’s looked through it for some inspiration—probably hoping he’d find the meat loaf recipe, but since he has a crazy good palate and worked at Millie’s for years, he probably knows exactly what’s in it and how much, but out of respect for Grandma Millie, he too won’t share,” Jessica confessed, putting down her spoon.

“Jay, this is your home. Dig in. Eat how you want. It’s just us here, and we’ve had a long, physical day.”

She felt her shoulders drop with his encouragement. She’d always felt on stage her whole life except when she was home alone or with her sisters, but even then, she wasn’t totally relaxed, needing to be the sister they expected.

She picked up a chip, hoping to not hear her mother’s scandalized voice in her head.

“This soup is amazing. If it’s not a secret family recipe, I’d love to make it for my grandma and grandpa one Sunday,” Storm encouraged. “I’d probably have to ease up on the spice a little, but with all the beans, and veggies and chicken, it’s gotta be nutritious.”

He took another bite, and chewed thoughtfully like he was mentally taking notes. “I’ve noticed neither of them seem that interested in eating. They’re getting a little more frail, and I’m hoping that by me being home and around, and taking off some of the burden, I can encourage them to keep their health and eat nutritiously.”

Jessica nodded in sympathy. “I’ll send some home with you for them and write it out for you tonight,” she said. “And I’ve created a file of a few internet go-tos that I use often,” she told him, no longer worried that she’d look desperate to please him other than as a friend being helpful. He was worried about his grandparents. And it wasn’t like she hadn’t noticed that Grandma Millie seemed a little more sedentary than usual. Should she mention it to her sisters? Or would that unnecessarily worry them?

“Thanks,” Storm said and followed that with a healthy bite. “If it’s not too much trouble, I’d still love to look through theSouthern Love Spellsbook? Funny name for a cookbook, but it’s got me curious.”

“I didn’t realize you were so…curious about cooking.”

“I like to eat.”

“So do I,” Jessica admitted, though she was always careful with everything she put in her mouth after a childhood of her mother counting calories for all of them, though all the Maye sisters had been active. “I…don’t know about the book.” She stirred her soup, and then her stomach rumbled.

“It’s weird,” she said in a rush and then seized a chip and dipped it into her soup and queso and, leaning over her bowl a little and saying a prayer she didn’t get queso on her chin, though she was ready with her napkin, she took a delicate bite.

He stared at her.

“What?” She felt defensive, but he’d said to be herself.

As if in answer, he scooped out more soup with a chip, and queso dripping, he held up the chip, let the queso drip and popped it all in his mouth.

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