Page 14 of First Moon

“I ruined it,” I said, suddenly feeling like I might cry instead of laugh. “It’s the Ivy affect. Wherever I am, chaos ensues.”

He turned off the burner and put his arms around me. “It’s not chaos. It’s fun. Do you know how long it’s been since I swam in my own pool?”

“But I made you forget your dumplings.”

“You make me forget a lot of things,” Jack said. “But, for the record, the dumplings were flat, as requested.”

“I’m sure they were.”

“And I’d make the dish a thousand times, knowing it would be ruined, to take a swim with you.”

“Jack Wilder, you should write country songs.”

“You think?” He kissed me. I heard his stomach growl.

“You’re starving,” I said.

“I am,” Jack said.

“We could order pizza.”

“We’re too far out. No one delivers out here.” He grinned, plucking a lock of my hair from my still damp cheek. “But I have an idea. I’ll make you my specialty. I cook it for my sister whenever she visits.”

I watched him take out tortillas, cheddar cheese, and a container of bologna.

“Oh my gosh, I haven’t seen real bologna in ages,” I said.

He got out a skillet and turned on the burner. “The night my dad left, my mom was working a double shift, and Luci was hungry. All we had in the fridge was what you see here.” He took two tortillas, putting one on the grill, sprinkling cheese over it, then put a piece of bologna on top before covering it all with another tortilla. “Voila, bologna quesadillas were born. We started a tradition that night. I can still remember the rain on the tin roof of our trailer. It was dark at five in the afternoon. We’d just watched our dad take off, and I knew right then—it was me. I had to step up for my mom and Luci. I was all they had.”

He flipped the quesadilla and for a second I saw the boy on that porch in the rain, with his baby sister beside him. He’d decided then to be the rock everyone needed. For the rest of his life.

“When I saw your house, I thought, this is a house for a family,” I said.

“That’s the idea.” Jack plopped the quesadillas onto plates, setting one in front of me. “Here it is. My masterpiece.”

Each plate held a triangle of crisped tortilla oozing cheddar at the edges. He opened the fridge and pulled out two longneck beers, popped the tops, and joined me at the island.

“This is the official pairing?” I asked.

“For bologna quesadillas? Absolutely. Not the first time I made them, obviously. But now Luci and I always wash them down with a cold beer.”

I took a bite. Delicious. The salty bologna, sharp melted cheddar with the crunch of the tortilla tasted like the best comfort food I’d ever had. “This is really good,” I said, before taking another bite. “I’m not sure I’ll fit into my dress tomorrow, but I think it’s worth it.”

“I’m glad you approve. Sorry about the chicken and dumplings.”

“No worries. Mama will make it for us next weekend.”

“Next weekend?” Jack took a swig of beer.

“When you meet my family.”

He laughed. “That’s how we’re doing this, huh?”

“If you’re going to marry me, you’ve got to meet my mama.”

He paled slightly, watching me over the top of his beer bottle.

“I’m just kidding,” I said. “I’m not a total psycho.”