Chapter 382
Mia’s POV
I grabbed the wine glass Thomas had poured earlier and drained half of it in one gulp.
The knock at the door came exactly thirty seconds later.
The last time I’d seen Morton, I’d punched him in the jaw.
The memory was impossible to ignore but too awkward to acknowledge.
“Mia,” he said.
“Morton.” I stepped back, gesturing him inside. “Come in p>
He followed me down the short hallway, his presence making the space feel smaller somehow. Morton was the kind of tall that made average-sized rooms seem suddenly inadequate.
As we approached the kitchen, the sounds of barely controlled chaos grew louder. Alexander’s voice rose above the rest, bright with excitement as he explained something to Madison.
“You are uncle Morton!” Alexander spotted him first, bouncing on his toes with the kind of enthusiasm that suggested Sophie’s confections had contained more sugar than was strictly advisable for small children.
“You’re taller than Thomas,” Ethan observed matter-of-factly.
“Ethan,” I warned gently, but Morton smiled.
“I am,” he agreed. “Though Thomas is probably smarter than I am p>
“Probably,” Ethan said with the brutal honesty of childhood, then added, “but you have a nice voice. It sounds like the man who reads the audiobooks Mama likes p>
Madison looked up from where she’d been carefully arranging sugar flowers on a plate, her gray eyes studying Morton’s face with the particular intensity she brought to things that mattered. “Are you the man who made Auntie Scarlett happy p>
Kids always speak the truth about what’s on their mind.
“I hope so,” he said quietly.
Sophie clapped her hands together with delight.
“Ah! Morton! Finally, you have stopped lurking in your expensive car like a lovesick teenager p>
“Scarlett,” Morton said, turning toward my best friend, who had been unusually quiet.
She looked up from where she’d been hiding behind her wine glass, her cheeks still flushed from whatever had happened between them in his car. “Hi p>
“Hi yourself p>
Sophie, never one to let a romantic moment go unmarked, pressed her hand to her heart with theatrical
Chap 360 A special occasion emotion. “Ah, young love,” she sighed. “So beautiful, so fragile, so likely to result in expensive therapy bills p>
“We’re not young,” Scarlett protested weakly.
“Love is always young, ma chérie,” Sophie replied philosophically. “Age is merely the wrapping paper. The gift inside remains eternally fresh p>
Thomas made a sound that might have been agreement or indigestion. He’d been unusually quiet since Morton’s arrival, his attention focused on something that appeared to involve cream and a great deal of concentrated whisking.
“Thomas, “Morton said, acknowledging him with the careful politeness of men who weren’t quite sure where they stood with each other. “How are you p>
“Busy,” Thomas replied without looking up from his bowl. “Apparently I’m learning French pastry techniques whether I want to or not.” It seems like Thomas was not happy about Sophie.
“The soufflé waits for no man,” Sophie declared. “And Thomas has surprisingly good hands”
“Gee, thanks,” Thomas muttered.
“Well,” I said, “since we’re all here, maybe we should think about dinner p>
“Oh!” Madison’s face lit up with sudden inspiration. “Could we have a dinner party? Like in the movies, where everyone sits around a big table and talks about important things p>
Alexander bounced on his toes. “Yes! And we could use the fancy plates Mama never lets us touch p>
“They’re not fancy plates,” I protested. “They’re just the good china from p>
“From your grandmother,” Ethan finished. “The ones with the little blue flowers that you said were for special occasions only p>
Morton looked around the chaos of my kitchen with something that might have been wonder. “I think,” he said slowly, “that this definitely qualifies as a special occasion p>
And somehow, impossibly, it did.
By the time Sophie declared dinner ready, my small dining room had been transformed. Candles flickered in mismatched holders, casting warm light across the table. The smell of herbs and wine and something that might have been happiness filled the air.
“Voilà,” Sophie announced, gesturing toward the spread with the satisfaction of someone who had just completed a masterpiece. “Simple bistro fare, elevated through proper technique and quality ingredients p>
The “simple bistro fare” looked like it belonged on the cover of a culinary magazine. Roasted chicken with crispy skin and herbs tucked under the surface, vegetables that gleamed with butter and careful attention, something that Sophie called “pommes Anna” but looked like edible architecture made from perfectly arranged potato slices.
“This is incredible,” I said, and meant it.
“This is nothing,” Sophie replied, but she looked pleased. “Wait until you try the dessert course p>
Compter Art. A special occasion
We settled around the table, an unlikely collection of adults and children sharing space that had never held so many people at once.
Alexander immediately reached for the chicken, then paused, looking around the table with the sudden awareness that this might be a more formal situation than his usual dinnertime routine.
“Go ahead, buddy,” Morton said gently. “Food tastes better when you’re hungry p>
“This is how grown-ups eat when they’re being fancy,” he observed to Madison in a stage whisper that everyone could hear.
“We’re not being fancy,” Scarlett protested.
“You are,” Alexander said matter-of-factly. “You’re using your quiet voices and sitting up straight and cutting your food into little pieces instead of just biting it p>
“These are called manners, mon petit,” Sophie said.
Morton had been quietly working his way through his plate. “How old are you?” he asked Alexander.
“Five,” Alexander replied promptly. “Almost six. Ethan too, ’cause we’re twins. But I’m older by seven minutes.
“Seven and a half minutes,” Ethan corrected.
“How do you know it was seven and a half minutes?” Thomas asked.
“Because Mama told us the story,” Ethan said. “Alexander came first, then the doctors had to work really hard to help me come out too. Mama says I was being stubborn p>
“You were being careful,” I corrected gently. “There’s a difference p>
“What about you, Madison?” Morton asked. “How old are you p>
“Five,” Madison said softly.
The conversation keep flowing. By the time we finished dessert, it was nearly nine o’clock. The children were fighting to keep their eyes open, sugar and rich food catching up with them.
Scarlett had grown increasingly quiet as the evening progressed, the wine combining with whatever had happened with Morton to leave her looking drowsy and slightly overwhelmed.
“I should probably get Scarlett home,” Morton said.
“I’m fine,” Scarlett said.
“You’re beautiful,” Morton corrected gently, “but you’re also drunk. And I promised myself I’d make sure you got home safely p>
“Since when do you make promises?” Scarlett asked.
“Since about three hours ago,” Morton replied.
I thought I really need to find out when did these two get back together.
Sophie, who had been following this exchange with the fascination of someone watching a particularly engaging tennis match, suddenly stood.
“Thomas,” she announced, “you will drive me home p>
Thomas looked up from his soufflé. “I will p>
“You will,” Sophie confirmed cheerfully. “Because I came here in a taxi, and it would be very ungentlemanly to allow a lady to take public transportation home after such a lovely evening p>
“There are taxis,” Thomas pointed out reasonably. 1
“Taxis driven by strangers,” Sophie countered. “Whereas you are a gentleman of my acquaintance who has proven himself capable of following detailed soufflé instructions without catastrophic failure p>
“I’m not sure that qualifies me as a chauffeur p>
“It qualifies you as someone with steady hands and good judgment,” Sophie said firmly. “Which are exactly the qualities one wants in a driver p>
Thomas sighed. “Fine,” he said.
The exodus took nearly thirty minutes.
Morton helped Scarlett into her jacket with the careful attention of someone handling something precious. She swayed slightly as she stood, then steadied herself against his arm.
Sophie kissed everyone goodbye, including the children, leaving traces of expensive perfume and the promise to return soon with additional culinary adventures. She paused at the door, her blue eyes finding mine with unusual seriousness.
“The doctor,” she said quietly, so the children couldn’t hear. “Dr. Norbu. He will see Kyle tomorrow at two o’clock. Mount Sinai, room 847 p>