Total pages in book: 137
Estimated words: 131486 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 657(@200wpm)___ 526(@250wpm)___ 438(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 131486 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 657(@200wpm)___ 526(@250wpm)___ 438(@300wpm)
“I better go,” he says, finally looking away, stepping away.
“Yeah, see you tomorrow,” I say, my smile hanging on by a thread.
He opens the door and climbs in, starts the Rover, and leaves. I stand in the driveway long after he’s gone, shivering in the cold.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Josiah
Wait. Don’t ring the bell yet.”
I glance at Vashti over the box of covered dishes balanced in my arms, my finger poised at Yasmen’s doorbell.
“I’m nervous,” she says, squeezing her eyes shut. “I know it’s silly, but I can’t help it. It feels like I’m meeting your family.”
Otis, waiting on the porch with us, looks from Vashti to me and lies down, resting his head on his paws like he’s settling in while I calm her nerves.
“There’s nothing to be nervous about.” I shift my box and give her a reassuring smile. “It’s just the kids and Yas, and I think a few people from Grits who didn’t have anywhere to go for dinner.”
“And your mother-in-law.”
“Former mother-in-law,” I correct, though Carole Miller never feels like a former anything. She treated me like a son from jump, and that didn’t end with the divorce. The fact that she and Byrd loved each other so much only solidified the bond between our families. “You’ll love Carole and she’ll love you.”
“It’s really great of Yasmen to invite me. Not many women would be so kind and accepting to their ex’s new girl.”
“That’s Yas for you.” I tilt my chin to her own smaller box of dishes. “Besides, you definitely come bearing plenty of gifts with all this food.”
“I made sure not to cook anything from Carole’s list.”
“You’re one of the best chefs in the city, so thanks for being cool about Carole’s demands.”
“Oh, I get it. Just because I went to culinary school doesn’t mean I can take over her kitchen. My mother’s the same way. Old-school, which I respect.”
“I think you’ll get along just fine.” I lift my brows and inch my index finger closer to the bell. “You ready?”
She takes a deep breath and nods. “Ready.”
The door flies open as soon as I press the bell.
“Dad!” Kassim says, practically bouncing. “There’s so much food.”
“Not for long if you have anything to do with it. Help Vashti with these dishes, Seem,” I say, as Otis bounds past us into the foyer like a liberated prisoner. “Otis!”
He stops, obedience in his swift response, but impatience in the twitching ears and swishing tail. I know he’s going straight to the kitchen to look for Yasmen, and Carole does not tolerate dogs in her domain.
“Stay in here.” I nod toward his bed in the corner of the living room. He huffs disdainfully, but assumes the position, curling up near the fireplace.
Kassim relieves Vashti of a few dishes, and we head toward the kitchen. I expect mass chaos, but I should have known better. Between Carole’s prowess as a cook and Yasmen’s hostessing supremacy, the kitchen is sparkling clean and filled with mouthwatering aromas. All the dishes neatly line the countertop and the kitchen island. When I peer through to the dining room, the table is set with familiar fine china and silverware. There’s an obscene amount of food. My stomach growls, and Carole looks up from adding pecans to the sweet potato casserole.
“I hear that belly talking already.” She laughs, gesturing toward a clear section of the kitchen island. “Set the food down.”
Kassim and I place our boxes down carefully. Carole slides her hands into the front pockets of an apron with “Not Your Grandma’s Grandma” printed on the front.
“And who we got here?” Carole asks, studying Vashti over the rims of her glasses with a friendly smile.
“This is Vashti,” I say. “Vashti, Carole Miller.”
“So nice to meet you,” Vashti says, setting down the dish she’s carrying.
“It’s nice to meet you too.” Carole lifts the top of one of Vashti’s pans. “Hmmmph. Salmon croquettes.”
“Yes, ma’am. My mama’s recipe,” Vashti says, some of the uncertainty leaving her voice now that they’re discussing food. “For the corn pudding too.”
“Corn pudding?” Carole’s expression turns alert. “And where is that?”
Vashti lifts the lid on another dish, revealing the golden yellow, sweet-smelling pudding.
“It’s been years since I had this.” Carole smiles approvingly. “Where your people from?”
“All my family lives in California now,” Vashti says. “But they moved out west from Louisiana originally.”
“Oh, so you got some Cajun in your blood.”
“I do. Look at these.” Vashti grins and pulls the lid from a sealed container, revealing beignets dusted with powdered sugar.
“How close are we to eating?” I groan.
“We’re ready,” Carole replies absently, eyes still feasting on the beignets. “Soon as Yas comes. She went up to shower and change. She’ll be down in a sec, and we can get started.”
“I’m here.”
Yasmen enters the kitchen, ushering in a scent that is the sweetness of vanilla. Gold clamps are scattered throughout the braids twisted into an upswept style. Her black wide-legged pants and fitted kelly green sweater show off the dips and flares of her lush figure. A matte red pout is painted onto her lips. All those details make her look fresh and pretty, but it’s the earrings that capture my attention.