Chapter 2

I looked at the house in front of me, running through how the meeting might go in a few minutes.

"What is it? Just tell me."

My nerves must have rubbed off on him, because his voice had dropped a good bit.

"My dad's a retired head chef from a state-run luxury hotel. You know that, right?"

I nodded.

"Of course I know."

At least three of the reasons Tristan managed to win me over came down to his cooking.

I'd come down from the North to go to college in Rivertown, and I'd never really taken to the food here.

Especially the Southern dishes, which leaned sweet and heavy, or else bland and light.

But after I met Tristan, he always found a way to make me the flavors of home.

"All the cooking at home goes through my dad, but he's got one rule at the table."

"After everyone's eaten, they have to give a detailed opinion, and it has to match his."

"If you say the wrong thing, the meal's over."

None of that struck me as excessive. If anything, I understood the old man.

"He cooks for you and just wants a little appreciation for it. What's wrong with that?"

Tristan had two older brothers, and his father was already forty-five the year he was born.

If my own parents were still alive, they'd be a fair bit younger than he was now.

"It's not about appreciation, it's more like, how do I put it..."

Tristan turned it over for a long moment, then said something that caught me off guard.

"I guess you could see it that way. Every meal, we're all just humoring him, keeping him happy."

"And once he leaves the table, most of the food ends up going to the cats and dogs."

Just like that, my nerves vanished. I turned and stared at him, stunned.

"It can't be that bad."

"He's a retired head chef from a state-run luxury hotel, for heaven's sake. Is the food really that terrible?"

Seeing I didn't believe him, Tristan gave a helpless shrug.

"Well, I've told you now. Just remember to go along with it at first, okay?"

I laughed.

"Don't worry. Back when my parents were alive, I had a real knack for buttering people up."

The two of us carried our gifts into the yard, and when we reached the house, the front door on the ground floor stood open.

Tristan's parents stood in the doorway, waiting with smiles.

"Dad, Mom, this is Jade Gray."

"Mr. Gilbert, Mrs. Gilbert, it's lovely to meet you."

Tristan made the introductions, and I greeted them with a polite smile.

"Sweetheart, you didn't have to bring all this, you know. It's not like you're visiting strangers."

Mrs. Gilbert's tone was warm and easy as she reached out and took the gifts from my hands.

Mr. Gilbert gave me a nod.

"Come inside, it's cold out there."

For a kid who'd survived Northern winters, the South really wasn't cold at all.

One thin down jacket and you could sail right through the whole season.

We sat down on the living room couch and made a little small talk.

Tristan took my hand on his own, and his mother came over and gave him a shove.

"Go help your dad in the kitchen."

Tristan and his father busied themselves in the kitchen while his mother stayed in the living room to talk with me.

"My boy's the youngest at home, and the most spoiled!"

"If he ever does you wrong, you tell me, and I promise I'll smack him."

I could tell she wasn't just being polite.

"Mrs. Gilbert, did Tristan get spanked a lot as a kid?"

She nodded with a smile, a bit of memory in her eyes.

"An absolute little terror. Nobody in the family had the heart to lay a hand on him. I was the only one who could bring myself to do it."

Nearly an hour later, sixteen dishes covered the dining table.

Once Mr. Gilbert picked up his chopsticks, Tristan set a piece of ribs in my bowl.

I'd barely had one bite when Mr. Gilbert spoke up.

"So, Jade, how does this dish taste?"