Friday evening Liv opened her front door and saw, of all people, Samantha. She couldn’t remember the last time Samantha had knocked on her cottage door without a specific invitation. Typically, she sought Liv out in the office. This might be a first.
Liv was all but certain that the expression of concern on the girl’s face was a first. “Samantha—”
“She’s not at home. Is she here?”
There was no need to ask who. “Yes, she’s here.”
“Mmm. Do I smell mac and cheese?”
Liv smiled. “There’s plenty.”
“Thanks.”
Liv followed her across the living room. Samantha still wore her work outfit—black slacks, black blazer, plain off-white silk shell, small gold stud earrings. According to her clothing, her company did not have casual days. Liv figured that suited their prestigious reputation.
They entered the kitchen, where Jasmyn sat at the table. Samantha sighed loudly, a sound of relief. “Jasmyn.”
“Hi.” She smiled. “Just in time for mac and cheese.”
Samantha slid onto a chair beside her. “You’re smiling. That’s a good sign.”
“Chad taught me to surf.”
“Okay. Nice.” She leaned forward. “And the meeting went how?”
Jasmyn held out a hand and rocked it back and forth. “Did you ever try surfing?”
“Yes. I bruised a rib and nearly broke my arm. You’re changing the subject.”
“There’s not much to tell, really.”
Liv got another plate from the cupboard and set it in front of Samantha. “Why don’t we eat?”
Samantha said to Jasmyn, “Just tell me one thing. Is she or isn’t she?”
“She is.”
“Wow.” She blinked. “Wow. Manda Smith is your sister?”
“Half.”
“Half. That’s exciting. Isn’t it?”
“Yeah. It is. Really. But it’s also sort of…I don’t know. That’s that?”
Liv pulled her casserole from the oven.
Earlier in the day, Jasmyn had poked her head in the office, relayed the same noninformation about her meeting with Manda Smith, and held up a wetsuit. Liv invited her to dinner later. No matter how at ease the girl appeared, Liv figured comfort food would be in order. She prepared her famous three-cheese macaroni, chicken, and truffle oil dish.
Samantha chatted about her day. Samantha, chatting and making small talk! Who would have imagined she could do that? Jasmyn had worked wonders in her short time at the Casa.
What were they going to do without her?
Liv busied herself setting the table with a bowl of spinach salad and adding lemon slices to glasses of mineral water. She put the eleven-by-fourteen-inch casserole dish near her plate.
“Liv, where’s the army?” Samantha asked.
“I never could cook for just a few.” She pulled out her chair, and there was another knock on the door. “Syd asked every night where the guests were.”
“There they are.”
Liv went to the door.
Keagan was less a surprise than Samantha.
He stated with certainty, “She’s here.”
“She’s fine.”
He cocked his head, waiting, not moving along as he usually would.
Mr. Antisocial wanted to come in? Liv wondered if there was a virus going around.
She shut the door behind him. “Mac and cheese?”
“No, thanks.”
They went to the kitchen and she got out another plate and fork.
“Ladies.” Keagan pulled out a chair and sat.
Jasmyn’s brows rose and Samantha squinted a question behind his back at Liv.
Liv shrugged.
There was another knock.
“Really, Liv?” Samantha’s tone accused.
The girl probably thought Liv had called a meeting. “I didn’t. I swear.”
Keagan said, “She always makes enough to feed a platoon.”
Samantha asked, “Is that smaller than an army?”
Liv opened the door.
Beau stood on her doorstep. “Evening, Miss Olivia. I was just on my way out and smelled something burning.”
“It’s cheese. It overflowed out of the casserole.”
He grinned.
She smiled. “Hungry?”
In the kitchen he said, “Well, hey, everybody,” and sat.
Samantha crossed her arms. Keagan nodded. Jasmyn waved.
Liv added a place setting in front of Beau, slid out a chair at the oval table, and noticed the vacant sixth chair. “Why don’t I just stand until Chadwick knocks. He usually has a nose for my mac and cheese.”
Jasmyn said, “He told me he was having dinner with his sister tonight.”
Liv sat.
She was at a loss how to melt the ice. It was an odd combination gathered round her table. Keagan avoided socializing, so he was no help. Samantha’s small talk had gone silent after Beau arrived. Jasmyn was off, closed in on herself. Beau could normally talk to a wall, but tonight he seemed tongue-tied. Perhaps because he sat next to Samantha?
Liv asked him to say grace.
He shut his eyes. “We thank You, Lord, for this food we are about to receive, and bless the little hands that prepared it. Amen.”
Samantha said, “ ‘Little hands?’ ”
“Something my granddaddy always prayed.”
“I take it Granny Mibs had little hands.”
“Why yes, as a matter of fact, she did.”
“Liv doesn’t. And she prepared this platoon-size feast with a whole lot more than just her hands.”
“That’s mighty true, Miss Sam. I appreciate you calling that to my attention. Miss Olivia, I apologize for any offense I might have committed. I realize you put your whole self into this feast, a lot of time and energy, and heart and soul.”
“No offense taken, Beau.” Liv spooned a scoop of the casserole onto Jasmyn’s plate. “Samantha, hold up your plate, dear. So you think I have particularly large hands?” she teased.
“No!” Samantha’s cheeks reddened. “They’re regular women-sized hands. ‘Little hands’ sounded derogatory, that’s all. Like…like you’re insignificant and incapable unless you’re in the kitchen cooking. If you feed the men, then you’ll get noticed.”
Oh, my.
Beau said, “I meant no disrespect, Sam.”
Her cheeks were two beet-red circles now and she lowered her eyes. “I know,” she mumbled.
Liv touched Samantha’s shoulder lightly and said a silent prayer for healing whatever triggered her unease around Beau. It was obvious the man adored her.
Keagan helped himself to the casserole. “Say, how about those Padres?”
Liv said, “I thought you didn’t want to eat.”
“Changed my mind. It seems a night to indulge in comfort food. You baked brownies too, right?” He winked at her. “Cream-cheese filled with milk chocolate icing?”
Liv stared. She had never seen sugar pass the man’s lips. There had to be a virus in the air.
Jasmyn said, “Who are the Padres?”
Keagan chuckled.
Beau laughed.
Samantha snickered.
The virus was most definitely contagious.
Liv shut the door on her guests and walked through the cottage, turning off lights.
The kitchen was immaculate, compliments of Jasmyn and Beau. They insisted she relax and that the other two stay out of the way. Samantha and Keagan were all thumbs when it came to simply clearing the table.
Her guests. It seemed too detached of a description for those four young people. Was “family” going overboard?
Jasmyn had finally shared details of her meeting with Manda Smith. Naturally, the big letdown was that there seemed to be no future relationship in store.
Beau had offered, “It’s like with adoption. Sometimes the kids or the biological parents don’t want to meet the other.”
Samantha said, “Exactly. If there’s the slightest possibility that a meeting would throw a major wrench into their status quo, they’d just as soon not.”
Beau said, “Upsetting the applecart isn’t on anyone’s agenda.”
“Exactly.”
Liv said, “But who knows? Manda might get in touch with you again now that she’s met you and sees what a sweetheart you are. She might want her husband and kids to meet you.”
Jasmyn said, “But she might not because then her kids would wonder why we look alike and tell their grandmother and then Manda would have to explain who I was.”
“Still,” Samantha had said, her eyes watering, “you met her. You got to fill up that spare room in your heart.”
Keagan had rested his arms on the table, leaning enough toward Jasmyn to force eye contact. “Who needs genetics? You have us.”
Liv’s head spun. What had happened? Samantha and Beau agreed on something. Samantha talked about the heart. Keagan suggested they were all family.
Her surrogate daughter announced she was leaving as soon as she got a ticket.
But Liv sensed that certain things had been cemented tonight. She and Jasmyn and everyone at the Casa would always be surrogate family.
And for that, Liv sang hallelujahs. She hitched up her shoulders and swayed her hips in rhythm to her spur-of-the-moment tune. She shuffled around her living room in little circles, her version of a jig.
If she kept looking for wonders, they never ceased and they continued to amaze her.