Chapter 7
Megan
I step into the big house and find Maureen at the counter with her sleeves rolled up and her hair clipped back. She looks completely in her element. Addison’s by the sink, her hair up too, towel over her shoulder.
“There you are,” Maureen says warmly, pulling me in for a hug before I can even set my purse down. “Ready to cook?”
“Yes!” I exclaim, glancing at the flour dusted on the counter and the neat line of ingredients she’s set out.
“I’m gonna show you two of Mason’s favorites,” she explains with a smile, handing me a recipe card like we’re about to start a test I didn’t study for. “Barbecue chicken sandwiches and homemade Hamburger Helper.”
I blink at the counter, then back at her. “Barbecue?”
“It’s so easy, trust me,” Addison adds, giving me a small side-hug too.
Maureen laughs. “It’ll be great. Wash up and we’ll get it started.”
I wash my hands at the sink, trying not to look as intimidated as I feel. Maureen moves around the kitchen like she’s filming a cooking show—ingredients lined up neatly, measuring cups stacked, everything in its place.
Addison ties an apron around her waist, grinning at me. “You ready for this? Mom doesn’t play around in the kitchen.”
“That’s comforting,” I mumble, drying my hands.
Maureen claps her hands together, bright and cheerful. “Alright, first up, the barbecue sauce. None of that bottled stuff—we’re doing this homemade.”
“Homemade?” I repeat, smiling nervously. “Like…from scratch?”
She laughs. “Sweetheart, it’s easier than you think. Ketchup, brown sugar, vinegar, Worcestershire, some spices. Stir it all together and let it simmer. Once you’ve had the real thing, you’ll never go back to store-bought.”
Addison smirks, leaning closer. “If Mason’s anything like Wesley, he’ll thank you later for going the extra mile for him.” She winks.
“Addison!” Maureen laughs, shaking her head.
“What?” Addison shrugs, all innocent. “Food’s the way to every man’s heart.”
I burst out laughing, cheeks flushed. “Good to know. Maybe this’ll help my odds then.”
Maureen smiles, pretending not to hear the rest. “Okay, moving on before this conversation gets any more personal.”
She slides a big bowl my way. “You measure out the ketchup—two cups.”
I tip the bottle and instantly regret my confidence. It splatters across the counter and straight onto the recipe card.
“Oh no!” I gasp, grabbing a paper towel.
Addison’s already laughing. “It’s fine. You’re just seasoning the instructions.”
Maureen wipes it clean, still smiling. “Cooking’s messy, sweetheart. That’s half the fun.”
I manage to pour the rest without incident, and she starts guiding me through each addition—brown sugar, vinegar, Worcestershire, garlic powder, onion powder, and a little mustard.
The smell changes fast. Sweet and tangy with a bite to it. I stir it, watching the color darken, and blink in surprise. “Okay, this actually smells…incredible.”
“Doesn’t it?” Maureen says proudly. “Here, taste it.”
I dip the tip of the spoon in it and take a lick. My eyes widen. “Oh wow!”
Addison leans against the counter, smirking. “See, Meg? Being a Jennings ain’t that hard.”
“Just a little intimidating is all.” I laugh breathily, still tasting the sweet tang of the sauce.
When I first went to his family’s house for dinner, I was shocked at how much food was homemade. I thought it was just because it was Christmas—but no. Every single meal at that table could qualify as a holiday dinner.
The rolls? Addison made them from scratch. I remember her leaning over to ask how they turned out because she thought they might not have risen long enough. Risen. Like that was something normal people worry about.
Then there was the ham—whole, bone-in, glazed, carved at the table like a scene out of a Southern magazine spread. Even the green bean casserole wasn’t spared. They grew the green beans themselves. Who even does that?
I glance down at my sauce again, half proud, half terrified. “If Mason expects me to cook like this every night, he’s going to be pretty disappointed.”
Addison snorts. “Trust me, he can’t expect you to cook like Mom. None of us can cook like Mom.”
Maureen laughs from the stove, stirring another pan. “That’s not true. You do just fine.”
Addison arches a brow. “Mom, I undercooked banana muffins again last week.”
Maureen waves her off. “Accidents happen.”
Addison looks to me. “If all else fails, just make him biscuits. Wesley loses his mind when I make homemade biscuits.”
Maureen chimes in, “So does Leonard. Biscuits and gravy with a side of bacon…he’s a goner.”
I can’t stop laughing. “So, food really is the way to their heart.”
Maureen hums. “Food, faith, and a little patience. Not always in that order.”
“Well,” I say, smiling to myself, “at least I’ve got the second two figured out.”
Maureen’s halfway through wiping the counter when her phone starts ringing on the island. She glances at the screen. “It’s Cody.”
She wipes her hands on her apron and swipes to answer. “Hey, hon.”
Addison and I both look up when her tone shifts.
“What do you mean she’s not sure?” Maureen says, one hand on her hip. “Is she timing them?”
I can hear Cody’s voice faintly through the phone—low, calm, but with that edge that says he’s trying really hard not to panic.
“Well,” Maureen says, balancing the phone between her shoulder and ear, “if she can’t walk or talk through ’em, I’d say she’s in labor.”
She glances at Addison and waves her hand toward the door. Addison’s already moving, grabbing her purse and jacket, but she’s grinning from ear to ear.
“She’s here with me,” Maureen tells Cody. “On her way, alright?” She hangs up, setting the phone on the counter, looking to Addison. “All you.”
Addison practically squeals. “Ah! I’ve been so excited for this!” she says, and before I can even blink, the front door opens and shuts in the same breath.
Maureen laughs, shaking her head. “She’s just excited to play house with Wesley for a few days.”
I laugh too. “Aw, she’s cute. That’ll be fun for them.”
“Yeah, we’ll see,” Maureen says, rinsing her hands at the sink. “Emma has her moments. But don’t we all? I’m anxious to see how Wesley does.”
I smile, leaning on the counter. “Mason and I should sign up for another babysitting gig. But not all three of them, just one. A full day, maybe.”
Maureen chuckles. “Ella would be dragging you home with her right now if she heard that offer. I don’t know how she does it.” She shakes her head.
“Yeah, her hours seem hard.”
She nods and then turns back to the sink. “You two still wanting to go for it right away? Or is that what this ‘trial run’ talk’s about? Making sure you know what you’re signing up for?”
I laugh, a little flustered. “No, we’re still planning on right away. I just think another trial would be fun, that’s all.”
“Yeah. Well, good,” Maureen says with a smile and dries her hands before nodding toward the oven timer. “Alright, our sauce is good like this; let’s get the chicken started now.”