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Somehow, that makes me laugh.
“Well, I’m no expert on parenting, seeing how my parents never did much when I was a kid. But from what I can see, Colt’s a very lucky young man.”
“He’s not a proper man yet, but he’s on his way. More wine?” He smiles and refills my glass. I’m a little shocked when I see I’ve finished it. “We’ll just see how well he handles it once he figures out you’ve moved in.”
Scrunch.
There go my toes again.
And I ever-so-slightly regret the hot honey sauce I mixed up when my body temp must be well over a hundred degrees.
According to Archer,the kids don’t usually stick around to eat with adults.
Normally, they retreat back to their hole with plates piled high with pizza to continue their gaming marathons.
Today, though, they settle around the table.
“This honey sauce slaps,” Evans says as he drags his crust through my sauce until it’s totally marinated.
The purple tint makes it look a little weird, but it tastes yummy.
Oh, and the pizza is incredible.
There’s no doubt Archer Rory can cook with heart and soul.
“It’s an easy sauce to throw together. I think the honey might be a tad sweeter than the usual kind,” I say.
“See, Dad? I told you it’d be big. Don’t you ever listen?” Colt says impatiently, reaching across the table for another slice.
“Yeah, but this is proof,” Archer says. “It’s decent enough to ignore the fact that it’s purple.”
Archer grins at me from the other side of the table.
I wrinkle my nose, biting back a smile.
This is kinda fun, being caught up in a family moment like the kind I never had at home. If we ate dinner together as a family, there was no joking.
Dad would be stuck on work, and Mom would be worrying out loud about her next big dinner party. Or—and this happened more often—dinnerwasthe big fancy social engagement and work project rolled into one fake, miserable event.
Lucky me.
Talking about Dad’s work or Mom’s dress or the stiff, stilted small talk of those dinner parties wasn’t thrilling.
Maybe discussing the nuances of purple honey isn’t the most sophisticated subject, but it’s warm. It’s friendly and authentic and fun.
The two enormous deep dish pizzas Archer assembled go down amazingly fast with five people attacking them. I’m glad I put together some extra garlic bread.
The teenagers are machine eaters, and there’s a weird pleasure from seeing them sit back in their chairs and talk about how full they are by the end.
“Tell me about your wood carving. You’re pretty into it, aren’t you?” I say to Colt as the other two push their chairs back, take their plates to the sink, and scamper back through the house.
“Yeah. Dad helps me sometimes, but I do most of the work.”
“That’s great, Colt.” I nod at the bookshelf behind him, which is decked out with several pieces clearly shaped by his skilled hands.
I see a globe, a scarecrow, a windmill. The last one even has tiny shingles etched on it.
“I’m seriously impressed. How long did it take you to do the windmill?”