Page 62 of Wild in Minnesota

“Well, Fern says she’s thinking about it.”

“What?” Oh shit.

She shrugged her shoulders. “I told her you were here to see her, and she said she would be deciding if she wanted to see you.”

“Oh.” I felt my eyes darting uncontrollably around the room. “Uh, can I wait?”

“Of course.”

“Do you think she’ll decide this afternoon?”

Her shoulders shrugged. “She can be a tough one to crack. No telling.”

“Well, I’d like to wait. The rest of my day is free if you don’t mind.”

“That sounds just fine. Have a seat. The remote is on the coffee table if you’d like to check out TV. I was just about to whip up some dinner. I’m thinking it feels like a spaghetti and meatball kind of day.”

“I think that sounds perfect.”

She pointed toward the kitchen. “Well, if you’re up for it, and since you’ve clearly given my daughter something to think about, I could use a cooking buddy.”

“I’m in.”

I got to my feet, and she took my hand. “I cook with wine. Are you okay with that?”

“Nothing sounds better.”

She nudged my arm with her shoulder. “Good. It’s your job to keep me on track. Okay? Last night after a few glasses I forgot why I was in the kitchen.”

While I wasn’t certain if Fern would ever come downstairs, I did have a lot of laughs with Sharon. She taught me how to make her Grandpa Jim’s secret meatball recipe and shared the fact that red wine in marinara sauce was a must, always down with that.

She told me stories about the time Dave crawled onto the roof and refused to come down if he had to wear shoes anymore. And how Fern would shave the heads of any dolls she received as gifts and hung them from the trees because, although she was a girl, anyone who really knew her, knew she hated doing girly things.

When I scraped the final pieces of onion from the cutting board into the sauce, Sharon sat at the table and poured herself a second glass of wine before looking over at me.

After a long minute of me running out of places to look, my eyes met hers as she tilted her head. “So Gabriel, how long are you actually willing to wait for Fern to decide if she will speak with you or not?”

I set the knife in the sink. “I have practice at noon tomorrow so whether it’s here or in my SUV, I’m waiting.”

I held her gaze before she stood, grabbed another wine glass from the china cabinet behind her, and filled it up. “Well then, you might as well take a load off.”

I joined her at the table. It was good wine.

She popped a brow. “Dave doesn’t know you’re here?”

“No, ma’am.”

“He’s your good friend. Won’t that be a problem?” She moved her glass in a circle, the wine swirling inside.

“There’s nothing to worry about if she won’t speak with me.”

She nodded. “Understood.”

An hour later Jerry arrived home, and I lit the candles in the center of the table while Sharon placed three plates overflowing with my Italian favorite in front of us.

“Hello, Gabe. That last game was a doozy.” He dropped in the chair and looked around. “Is Dave here?”

Sharon cleared her throat. “No, he’s not. Gabriel was in the neighborhood so stopped to say hi.” She gave me a wink. “I insisted he stay for dinner.”

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