Page 50 of Money Shot

I glanced over my shoulder, grinned, and winked at Vince. As I followed his mother into the kitchen, an adorable – and obviously overweight – English bulldog ran past us and toward the living room. As he ran, slobber flipped from his lips.

“That’s Bradley,” she said as he ran past. “He’s Stephen’s brother.”

“Hi, Bradley,” I said jokingly even though he was long gone.

“Stephen was right, your hair is perfect,” she said as she stepped to the side and studied me.

“Why, thank you,” I said.

I glanced over my shoulder and upon confirming we were alone, lowered the tone of my voice to a whisper. “He told you about my hair?”

“Honey, I’ve been hearing about you since the day you met back in June. He tells me bits and pieces at a time, but that hair of yours…he just won’t stop talking about it.” She said.

“He’s silly,” I said.

She pulled the oven door open slightly and peered inside. “He sure is. And just so you know, he’s been known to tell a fib or two. Now, back in July, what happened to his face? Someone beat him up, didn’t they?”

I pointed to my cheek innocently. “When he got the stitches?”

She glanced up and nodded her head. “Mmmhhhmm.”

I shrugged my shoulders. “I thought he wrecked his motorcycle.”

“Well aren’t you cute,” she said. “Sticking up for him already.”

She opened the oven again and pulled out a sheet of dinner rolls sufficient to feed a small army. After placing them on the counter beside the rest of the meal, she sighed.

“Stephen’s always prompt, and so am I. I think that’s about all of it,” she said as she glanced around the kitchen.

“It smells wonderful,” I said.

“So do you, Honey. I absolutely love that perfume you’re wearing. And that dress? It’s beautiful,” she said.

“Thank you,” I said with a smile. “I just got it.”

She walked past me, peered through the doorway, and turned to face me. “He’s in there talking to Bradley.”

She walked back into the kitchen, picked up the platter of turkey, and nodded her head toward the sweet potatoes. “Honey, grab the yams and follow me.”

I glanced in the dish. The sweet potatoes were covered in marshmallows. As I inhaled the sweet aroma, a rush of emotions washed over me. Other than in my father’s home, I had never seen them prepared in the same manner, and although I never assumed my father invented the recipe, I had yet to deal with such a strong reminder of him. I bit into my quivering lip, picked up the sweet potatoes, and followed her into the dining room, my mouth watering the entire way.

A table large enough to seat eight with a large chandelier over it sat in the center of the room. She placed the turkey on the table and reached for the potatoes. After situating them in what I suspected was her perfect place, she turned away. After a few steps, she paused.

“Do you want children?” she asked.

I was slightly shocked by her question, and wondered how I should respond. It was something Vince and I had yet to discuss, but I was sure we would at some point in time. Talking to her about it first seemed strange.

Still facing away from me, she turned her head and gazed at me over her shoulder. “Just between you and me.”

I grinned and nodded my head eagerly. “I do.”

“How many?” she asked as she turned away.

“Just between you and me?” I asked.

“Honey, everything we discuss is between you and me. It’s what mothers and daughters do, they keep secrets with each other,” she said.

Her response didn’t immediately sink in, but as I responded, I felt flattered and considerably more welcome in her home. Whether she intended to or not, she made me feel wanted, and almost as if I was already truly a part of the family.