Page 176 of The Friend Situation

“Choose wisely,” I mutter to him. “Or she’ll never trust you again.”

“Over medium,” he replies without hesitation, resuming his seat and scooting his chair closer to me.

“Correct choice. You can never trust a person who orders themover easy.” She returns to the stove, setting her cast iron skillet on the gas burner.

Weston snickers.

Moments later, Mawmaw slaps a slab of bacon onto the hot iron. The aroma and sizzle fill the kitchen.

My eyes wander over the flowered curtains that have been hung since I was a child. It feels like a nostalgic little time capsule. The space brings back unforgettable memories from my upbringing and makes me miss my grandpa. He was such a kind, loving man.

“What are your plans this week?” Mawmaw asks.

Weston clears his throat. “Not sure. Carlee mentioned a Cupid carnival.”

“The town is expectin’ record crowds, so parking might be awful. Just be prepared. But the weather is supposed to be really nice. Supposed to warm up some,” she says, skillfully flipping the bacon.

Mawmaw taught all the grandkids how to cook when we were barely old enough to walk. After grabbing another iron skillet and adding spoonfuls of butter, she cracks open the eggs. Mawmaw hums a little melody.

“I read what you wrote this morning,” he mutters.

“Yeah? And?”

“I’ll have my lawyer get in touch,” he mutters, his gaze fixed on my lips.

I’m acutely aware of how he’s looking at me. “Yeah right. What did you think?”

“Loved it. And I agree; it does take courage.”

He steals a kiss, and I let him. I know I shouldn’t melt into him, but I do. Right now, I’m fully immersed in this fantasy. I want to play this game.

Mawmaw sets plates in front of us. “Eat it while it’s hot. Don’t wait on me.”

I grab my fork and cut into my eggs, knowing better than to argue with her over this. She gets offended.

The whites of the egg and the bright yellow yolk are cooked perfectly. It oozes into my plate, and I realize just how hungry I am this morning.

“Wow, this is amazing,” Weston says. “Thank you so much.”

“Yes, thank you, Mawmaw.”

“Farm-fresh eggs—with lots of butter—make all the difference,” she explains. “Don’t y’all have them in New York?”

I chuckle. “Sometimes, I can find them at the farmers markets, but I haven’t had eggs this fresh since the last time I was home.”

“Don’t wait so long to come visit next time. I’m getting older, and I want to see you more,” she scolds.

“Okay, I promise I won’t wait so long. I’ll try for every six months.”

“Join us for Christmas this year. Both of you.”

“It’s February!” I tell her. “I can’t plan that far in advance.”

“And? Plan it now so there are no excuses for not making it.”

“She does have a point,” Weston says, then grins at her. “We’ll be here.”

“Fantastic!” She claps her hands together. “You’re staying here too.”

---