Andra’s whisk jerked to a stop. “Having an accent doesn’t mean you’re uneducated.” As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she wanted to cringe, because she’d just picked a fight with LJ’s beloved mom. But she hated everything about the entire argument. “It’s ridiculous. Nobody ever says British people sound uneducated, even though they tack an r on the end of all kinds of words that don’t have one. The idea that a southern accent makes you sound dumb has a whole lot more to do with prejudice than IQ points.” She lifted her chin. “I happen to like the way he talks.”

Rose blinked, and Andra braced herself for a fight. “Well, then,” the other woman said, the corner of her mouth twitching upward.

The door rattled under a too-enthusiastic knock.

Rose turned toward the sound, brushing off the tense moment. “LJ, take that whisk and see if you can salvage the roux before you have to run off to work. Andra, honey, go see who’s at the door and tell them the gumbo won’t be ready until this afternoon no matter how many times they ask.”

LJ hooted with laughter, stealing Andra’s whisk. “After she ate your red beans with a straight face, I thought for sure Mama loved you too much to teach you a thing. Turns out even love has limits, and those limits start with messing up gumbo.”

“I wasn’t messing it up.” She gestured at the pan. “It’s goo! It was goo five minutes ago, too.” She crossed the kitchen and pulled the door open, yanking hard to get it past the sticking point. “The gumbo’s not ready, Ty, and I promise you don’t want to come in here. These two are both crazy.”

LJ’s best friend grinned at her from the porch. “Maybe I came to see you.”

She snorted. “After what I did to your guitar? Not likely.” She turned and gave Rose a pained look. “He said the sounds I made were like the babbling of an infant.” She narrowed her eyes at Ty. “They were chords. I am almost sure they were chords.”

“Girl, you’re pretty and all, but if music is a language, you’re illiterate.” He laughed.

“Not fluent,” LJ corrected from the stove, whisking with quick, exact strokes. “Illiterate would be if she couldn’t read, not speak.”

“Oh, she can’t read music, either, fool.” Ty shook his head. “It’s sad.”

“Did you come here to make fun of me?” Andra opened the door a little farther, leaning on the edge. “Because I have to tell you, these two pretty much had that covered.”

He brightened. “Nope. I got something for y’all.”