I laughed and followed her out of my bedroom.

My parents were in the great room, chatting on the couch.

“Can we order pizza?” asked Sophie and plopped down on the couch next to my mom.

“Oh. Um.” My mom turned to my dad.

“Sophie, we talked about this,” my dad said. “If you’re done with your research project, you need to head home. And isn’t your father expecting you home for dinner?”

“Probably not. And we’re not done with our project yet.”

Technically that was true. We still had a baker’s dozen men to whittle down. I glanced at my phone. My kiss thief hadn’t replied.

“It’s on me,” Sophie said and pulled out her phone. “What kind would you like?”

My dad laughed.

“Ellen already has a lasagna in the oven,” my mom said.

Yum. Ellen made the best lasagna.

“Lasagna?” Sophie thought about it for a moment. “That could work. But I have some questions.”

I forced myself not to groan.

“Is there parmigiano Reggiano in it? Or parmesan?”

“Parmesan I think,” my mom said.

Sophie scrunched up her nose. “I don’t like that. I’ll order pizza from that place I like.”

And by that she meant the only pizza place in town that didn’t hang up on her immediately. Sophie was a very picky eater. And it was low key embarrassing going out to eat with her. It should have been harassment when she asked the waiter a bajillion unnecessary questions.

“Sophie,” my dad said. “We’re having lasagna for dinner. You don’t have to stay. And despite what you said, your father probably is expecting you home for dinner. Have you texted him?”

Sophie sighed. “Fine, Uncle James. Twist my arm, why don’t you? I’ll eat the weird parmesan based lasagna.” She ignored the whole part about telling her father.

“I think it’s mostly mozzarella cheese,” my mom said. “With just a little parmesan on top.”

“Just on top? Wait. Please tell me it’s at least deconstructed?”

My mom’s eyebrows pulled together. “Deconstructed lasagna? The whole point of lasagna is that it’s constructed...into lasagna.”

“Can I just have plain pasta and sauce? Wait, what kind of sauce is it?”

“Ellen makes it from scratch.”

“Do you have a list of the ingredients?”

My mom shook her head.

“Well, how many cloves of garlic are we talking? It’s not tomato sauce if all you can taste is garlic. There’s a balance to it.”

“I have no idea, Sophie.”

Sophie sighed. “I’m going to starve,” she whispered to me.

I stifled my laugh. As soon as Sophie tried the lasagna she was going to love it. I don’t know why she always made such a fuss.