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She really went all out for this.
For us.
For a big fat dumb lie I’m pulling over on her.
I wonder if hell is less humid than the summer we’ve been having.
Dexter whistles loudly and rubs his eyes. It sounds so genuine I glance up at him, startled.
“Damn. This is incredible.”
Nana’s smile might break her face. “I like a man who shows up with an appetite. And it’s not often you get to meet the man who’s stolen your favorite granddaughter’s heart.”
“Nana…” I squirm as she directs me to a seat. “I’m your only granddaughter.”
It’s true. My cousins are boys, even if their wives gossip like they’ve always been Winkleys.
“Does that mean I love you any less?” Nana looks so threatening, brandishing a serving spoon like a weapon, I’m forced to laugh and shake my head as she turns her attention back to the potatoes. “I thought not.”
Dexter takes his place beside me and slips his hand into mine again. I don’t know when I pulled away.
My palm feels so sweaty it’s indecent.
Oh God.
“Would you like a drink?” Nana asks Dexter, already pouring me a tall glass of wine. It’s a struggle not to glug down the whole thing to medicate my nerves.
“Just the wine,” Dexter says. “I’m driving tonight.”
She pours him a glass and passes it over before turning her attention to serving dinner. I think she’ll be doing this until the day she dies, ever the attentive host, totally focused on her dinner parties and dishing up food that’s so divine it leaves everyone craving more.
The kitchen has been the focal point of the house for as long as I can remember, and not just for baking. It’s a place of memories, hard work, endless laughter, and life.
“So, Dexter, tell me about yourself. Junie’s been holding all your secrets so close to her chest I’m worried she’ll suffocate them,” Nana says as she heaps heavenly potatoes onto my plate. Far too many, but that’s how she rolls. It’s not dinner unless you stumble away overfed and bursting at the seams.
He glances at me slowly.
The moment of truth.
“We don’t talk business much, do we, Sweet Stuff?” The endearment slips from his tongue like honey. I don’t know whether to laugh hysterically or burst into flames. Or how to pretend this is anything close to ordinary.
“Uh, yeah. I barely know what you do.” I laugh awkwardly, playing it off as a joke, but if Nana only knew the truth…
“I’m a founding member and owner of Higher Ends International,” Dexter says, launching into a polished summary he must’ve used in a hundred meetings. While he explains their bougie luxury rental business—in excruciating detail, no less—I study my plate so I’m not scrutinizing Nana’s face every second, wondering if she’s buying it.
The ribs are cooked to perfection with a sauce that does Kansas City proud. The pies Nana used to supply to the best smokehouses in town for a bargain really paid off when the barbecue masters invited her to learn from them.
The potatoes, too, crunchy with just the right hint of rosemary. A little of her homemade aioli on the side makes my mouth sing.
She’s outdone herself, but she always does.
If only I could enjoy it in peace…
After Dexter finishes his spiel, grudgingly giving his brothers a little credit for their shared success, she clasps her hands and says grace.
I bite my cheek and glance up at him, but his expression doesn’t crack. He just bows his head respectfully.
“…good God, good meat, Amen and let’s eat!” Nana finishes with a wolfish smile, looking up at us both. She may be old-fashioned, but she tries to make her traditions fun. “Hurry up and clean your plates. There’s plenty more where that came from.”
