Page 39 of Runaway Bride for the Boss

“What? Get out!”

Andrea chuckles at my shock. “I know, right. I guess it’s true what they say about opposites attracting.”

It’s a little bit ironic that the maternal housekeeper is on a last name basis with the household, while the uptight butler is simply Greg. “Yeah, I guess so.”

“Mrs. Staten will get a kick out of your reaction.” Andrea grins and loops her arm through mine. I resist her attempt to pull me out of my room.

“You know, I’m actually not that hungry yet. You go on without me.”

She narrows her eyes, suspiciously. “What’s going on? Are you still sad about the call with your mom yesterday?”

I debate lying, but Andrea has been so kind and open to me ever since we met that I murmur instead, “I just want to be alone, I guess.”

“A little bit of warm food and company will make you feel better, trust me.” Andrea pats my arm. I give in, letting her lead me toward the stairs.

Alex is nowhere to be seen, and I breathe a discrete sigh of relief.

“There you two are! Alex left home a couple of minutes ago. I was feeling sad that no one would partake in my tradition this year.” Mrs. Staten grins, her face lighting up when she sees us.

“Tradition?” I ask.

“It’s a Beaufort tradition. Since we were kids, the morning after the first snow of the year, we indulge in brown-butter banana bread with a hearty chili beef soup. It was Mom’s recipe, but she’s passed it on to us, and we’ve all continued to make itin our own homes. Ezra can’t cook to save his life, so Mom sends him a dish every year. I have the recipe, but I like to come here. No one makes it better than Mrs. Staten. Don’t let Mom know I said that though!”

I grin, loving the idea. I’ve never really been part of a tradition. Mom and I meet at a restaurant for Thanksgiving, and she sends me postcards during Christmas because she always spends it out of New York as the cold is bad for her joints, according to her. But it’s nothing like the warmth of this kind of tradition.

“I love it. I was wondering what that amazing smell was.”

“Wait till you taste it.” Andrea kisses her bunched up fingers in a chef’s kiss gesture.

Mrs. Staten leads us to the sprawling kitchen island, where Andrea and I share most of our meals. Now that I think about it, I don’t know why I was so worried. Alex never eats with us. Then she slides a plate of steaming beef chili soup in front of each of us, followed by the bread, which smells phenomenal and looks so soft. My mouth salivates as I watch her cut into it. She wasn’t shy with the butter, which is melting over the ooey gooey goodness.

I immediately break off a chunk. It melts in my mouth with the taste of banana-caramel nutty decadence. The different flavors should clash, but it just adds to the richness of the meal. Pure comfort food. “Oh, My God, Mrs. Staten,” I groan, my eyes rolling back.

The housekeeper grins with satisfaction. “You like it?”

“I love it. Can I have the recipe?”

“Only if you marry a Beaufort. It’s my nana’s secret recipe,” Andrea counters, taking a bite of her own bread.

“But Mrs. Staten isn’t a Beaufort by birth or marriage.” I point out as I scoop a bit of the soup into my mouth. I let out a deep sigh as I relish the taste.

“She doesn’t count. She’s Beaufort by association.”

“Well, I want to be a Beaufort by association too.”

“Nuh huh, it doesn’t work that way, sis.” Andrea pokes her tongue out playfully.

“Well in that case, will you marry me, Andrea?”

A throat clearing grabs our attention and we look toward the doorway to see Greg – Mr. Staten – hovering there watching us uncertainly.

“Goodness, Greg! What are you doing there?”

“I have a package for the miss from Mr. Beaufort.”

“Hmm, is Alex trying to bribe me? What could he possibly want?” Andrea looks almost giddy as she beckons the butler forward to give her the gift box in his hands. But Greg shifts uncomfortably on his feet.

“For the other miss, ma’am.” He glances at me pointedly, and the soft bread becomes lumpy in my throat. My heart starts racing when Mrs. Staten and Andrea turn to look at me, with varying states of confusion.

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