“On the phone the other night. Granted, you were drunk, but … this isn’t just me. I’m not alone in this.”

Taylor’s family’s laughter floated up the stairs and down the hall to where we stood.

“You’re right,” I said.

Taylor expectantly stared at me.

“We should go downstairs.”

The scowl on his face made me wince. He opened the door, waiting for me to lead the way.

Travis was standing behind Abby at the stove, his arms wrapped around her, bending over to nuzzle her neck.

“Can I help with something?” I asked.

They both stopped their giggling and swaying back and forth long enough to look at me, making me regret the interruption.

With the fork in her hand, Abby pointed at a stack of brown glass plates. “If you’d like, you can set the table.”

Taylor passed me and picked up the plates, gesturing with his head for me to follow. I grabbed the silverware and trailed behind him into the next room where Jim sat alone.

Taylor set a plate in front of his dad, and I placed Jim’s knife and fork down. Abby hadn’t set out spoons, but I didn’t imagine a soup course would be served. Any home where I felt I belonged wouldn’t have courses—or maids or life-changing selfish agendas.

Travis came in, positioning hot pads on the table, and Abby quickly followed, lowering a glass casserole dish with several juicy, heavily spiced pork chops. They were young but clearly in love, always sure to kiss or touch when they passed one another.

Taylor pulled out a chair next to Jim. “Have a seat.”

The maroon fabric was stained and faded, but the cushion was nicely worn in, just like Taylor’s family.

Jim pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. He smiled at me, the slightly swollen skin under his eyes pulling up.

When the bowls of mashed potatoes, white pepper gravy, and snap peas were on the table, Jim nodded. “Looks good, son.”

“I got me a good one,” Travis said, smiling at Abby.

“Yes, you did,” Jim said, winking at his daughter-in-law.

Once Jim took a bite, I picked up my fork and dug in, not realizing the three bites of Taylor’s sandwich I’d mooched on the way to Eakins hadn’t been enough to tide me over like I thought.

“Oh God, this is good,” I said, closing my eyes.

Phaedra was a good cook, and I always ate well at the Bucksaw, but eating from the same menu every day made someone else’s home cooking feel like eating out.

“Do you cook?” Abby asked.

Her gray eyes pierced straight through mine into the deepest parts of me. I couldn’t blame her for wanting to protect her family from anyone unworthy. They’d been through a lot, and any woman important enough to bring home deserved a thorough evaluation.