Page 73 of Lucky in Love
“Perfect. I’ll pull it out to thaw and put away the pie fixin’s. Then I’ll start peeling potatoes. You focus on the turkey, and we’ll work on the stuffing once it’s in the oven.”
“I want you to know, I’m usually much cooler under pressure,” Alex said. “Who knew flour and dead fowl would be my kryptonite?”
“It’ll be fine.” He leaned down and kissed her.
Pops and his mom hit it off right away and gabbed like teenagers while he and Alex worked in the kitchen.
Cooking with her felt very domestic, and he kinda dug it. In the last week, they’d spent every night together, sometimes with her friends, sometimes just the two of them. Being with her was so easy. She made him laugh. She made him think. And she was a great kisser.
Once they got everything under control, they joined Pops and his mom, who had switched over to a football game.
“Anything I can do?” Pops asked.
“I think we’re way beyond that,” Alex said dryly.
“I’d offer to help,” his mom said. “But I’m positively worthless when it comes to cooking. If there’s anything dummy-proof youneed done—and I’m talking, can opening level of difficulty—please let me know.”
“Pft. You and me both, sister,” Alex said. “I hope you have an iron stomach.”
“I’m sure it will be fine, honey.” His mom laughed. “I just really appreciate the invitation.”
They spent the next few hours chatting, watching football, and snacking on a charcuterie board. His mom appeared charmed by both Alex and Pops.
“Dinner’s ready,” Alex finally announced. “Please temper expectations appropriately.”
Pops took one look at the table, excused himself to run out to his truck, and returned with a bag of store-bought rolls. “It’s not that I didn’t trust you,” he said to Alex.
She went to a cupboard and pulled out a bag of the exact same brand. “But always have a backup,” she said with a smile, seemingly sharing some inside joke.
“Well, Martha Stewart I am not,” Alex said once they’d all been seated. “Let’s just pray it’s edible.”
“Smells divine,” Brody said, digging in.
Alex filled her wineglass and passed the bottle around. “Drink enough, and it might go down okay.”
Between the four of them, they kept the conversation flowing. Everyone picked at their food and danced around the fact that every dish was either over- or undercooked. Brody choked down a bit of raw potato, confirming he shouldn’t have underestimated Alex’s underestimation of her cooking abilities.
Mid-meal, they threw in the towel, split the store-bought pie four ways, and took their plates to the living room.
“I’m so sorry, everyone,” Alex said. “I’ve ruined Thanksgiving.”
“Nonsense, dear,” Brody’s mom said. “It was a valiant first effort. And pretty gutsy if you ask me.”
Alex took the whole fiasco in stride, just like she did most everything—her friend dying, her mother’s visit, her business floundering, and her sprained ankle. He added resilience to her list of admirable qualities.
Pops went home, and Brody drove his mom to her cabin. A lucky, last-minute cancellation meant he hadn’t had to give up his bed.
“So, what do you think of Alex?” Brody asked. “And don’t base your opinion on her cooking prowess.”
His mom chuckled and looped her arm in his as they climbed the porch steps. “She’s wonderful, honey,” she said sincerely. “Just the type of woman you need. The question is, what doyouthink of her?”
Brody exhaled forcefully. “I love her, Mom. Is that even possible? So soon after meeting her. So soon after Chloe?”
At his mother’s silence, he glanced down to see a smile spread across her face. “Yes, it’s possible.”
He was hoping for more, but she didn’t elaborate.
“You sure you don’t want to come hang out with us tonight? Alex said you were welcome.”
