Page 129 of Safe With You

“That’s not the point.”

I laughed as we started back toward Chapter & Charm. She’d made it half a block before looking over her shoulder toward the stationery shop one last time.

I noticed.

Of course I did.

Sunday dinner at the Bennetts used to happen every Sunday.

Then life got busy the way it always seemed to do. Work schedules changed, weekends filled up, and I opened Chapter & Charm. Somewhere along the way, every Sunday became every other Sunday, then whenever everybody could make it.

Now, we tried for at least one Sunday a month.

Mama still called it Sunday dinner like we’d never missed one.

I pulled into my parents’ driveway a little after three with Sweet Magnolias balanced on the passenger seat and my air conditioning fighting for its life against the Mississippi heat. I’d dressed for comfort in denim shorts, a loose rust-colored tank, and sandals, but the backs of my thighs were still sticking to the seat by the time I turned the car off.

My curls had lasted exactly long enough for me to leave the apartment. The humidity had already started softening the definition around my hairline, and I’d given up somewhere around the second red light, pulling half of it away from my face with a clip I kept in my purse for emergencies.

I’d barely gotten out of the car before I spotted Daddy exactly where Mama had predicted he’d be when we talked earlier in the week.

Standing over the grill.

Daddy looked up as I closed the door, the pair of tongs in his hand pointed loosely in my direction.

Laughing, I reached into the passenger seat for the bakery box before making my way toward him.

His attention dropped immediately to the box.

“What you got?”

“Nothing for you.”

“Then why you bring it to my house?”

“Because my mama lives here.”

He pressed a hand to his chest like I’d genuinely wounded him. “See how you treats me?”

“You’ll survive.”

I leaned up to kiss his cheek before peeking toward the grill. Chicken covered most of one side, ribs the other, and a foil pan sat on the upper rack. Everything looked considerably more under control than Mama had made it sound.

“Looks like you figured it out.”

His eyebrows pulled together. “Figured what out?”

“The grill.”

“Ain’t nothing wrong with my grill.”

“Mama said⁠—”

“Your mama don’t know nothing about grilling.”

The back door opened before I could tell him exactly what Mama had said.

“I know enough to know we ate at eight o’clock last time because you couldn’t get the temperature right.”