It Had to Be You, Georgia Clark [phonics reader TXT] 📗

Liv twisted the towel off her damp hair and dropped it over the back of a dining room chair. “Look, I appreciate you coming over and Jamie Oliver–ing my kitchen. But I don’t think this will work out.”

It felt like cutting open a perfectly ripe avocado to find it brown and smelly inside. “That’s a shame.”

The front door opened. “Mom?”

Liv’s entire face lit up. “In here!”

Oh, Sam realized. She’s really pretty.

Footsteps sounded down the hallway. A young boy ran in and threw himself on Liv in a hug.

She hugged him back in the way only a mom did. “Hey, baby. How was school?”

“Good,” replied the boy. He looked to be about seven or eight.

Liv asked him something about how a carpool went: he must’ve been dropped off by one of the other parents. It didn’t feel like there was a father in the picture. The house, the boy, the woman, were all absent of a spouse, somehow. Divorce? Divorcing? Or maybe something worse. That would explain the kitchen.

The kid went on. “We did an experiment with eggshells to see how soda stains teeth and wears down enamel.”

“Whoa!” Liv poked him in the side. “Did it make you want to drink less soda?”

“Nope,” he said, before noticing Sam, and becoming shy.

“Ben, honey, this is Sam. A… friend.”

“Hey Ben.” Sam bent down to Ben’s level. “I like your backpack. Is that Spider-Man?”

Ben nodded, his eyes on the ground.

“I have a question,” Sam said. “Who would win in a battle between Superman and Spider-Man?”

“Superman.”

“Really?” Sam was intrigued. “Then why isn’t he on your backpack?”

“Well, Superman is stronger but Spider-Man’s funnier and more, um, relatable.” Now Ben was looking at Sam. “He was just a regular kid.”

“Sounds like you know what you’re talking about,” Sam said.

“I’m intellectually curious,” replied Ben.

Sam grinned. Liv was smiling too, proud and pretending not to be.

Ben wandered into the kitchen, taking in the groceries. “What are you doing?”

Sam rose to his feet. “Well, you know how your mom plans weddings?”

Ben nodded.

“I’m a cook. I make food for weddings. And I’m here to audition for your mom. You know what an audition is?”

Ben shook his head. A small smile edged his mouth.

One of those kids who loved learning. Like Dottie. Dottie loved learning new things, too. “It’s like a test. A trial. If your mom likes what I cook, she might hire me.” Sam and Liv traded smiles, easy as an underarm lob.

Ben rocked back and forth on his toes. “What are you going to make?”

Sam looked to Liv. She shrugged, then nodded. Permission granted.

“Zucchini lasagna, fresh pea risotto, and a few appetizers,” Sam said. “Vegetarian, gluten-free, one hundred percent organic, and yummy. Wanna help me?”

“Can I, Mom?”

A micro expression of surprise flashed over her face before Liv replaced it with something more neutral. “As long as you don’t chop your fingers off.”

“Don’t worry, I am an expert in not chopping off fingers.” It’d been a while since Sam had met someone he found interesting. Liv was interesting. Her gaze brought a little flush to the back of his neck. Maybe she was in the same sort of situation he was in. “All right Big Ben, I am going to show you how to shuck peas.”

6

An hour or so later, Liv was tasting the best pea risotto of her life. One bite and she saw delicate young shoots and careening swallows and the gorgeous vermilion roses that burst forth along the back fence every May, unbidden and relentlessly alive. God, this winter had been long. Soon it’d be warm enough to eat dinner in the backyard under the old willow tree. If she could bring herself to pull out the one thousand weeds.

“Do you like it, Mom?” Ben was bouncing with excitement. “I shucked hundreds of peas.”

Ben’s interest in food prep was a surprise. His grief counselor said this would be a marathon, not a sprint. In some ways, Ben would never get over losing his father. The disruption to the family unit would play out his entire life: his attachment style, his choice of partners, maybe even the way he parented himself. The last three months had been fraught; Ben couldn’t sleep alone or with the lights off. He was prone to anxiety and tantrums. Pay attention to difference, said the counselor. To change.

Cooking wasn’t a Goldenhorn tradition. But it wasn’t exactly an unpleasant sight, the handsome caterer helping Ben stir a pot of simmering risotto.

“It’s delicious,” Liv told her son, accidentally looking at Sam instead of Ben as she added, “Well done, sweetie.”

“You’re welcome, sweetie,” Sam replied, deadpan.

Liv laughed out loud. She honestly could not remember the last time she’d done that. She’d find out later that Savannah was currently stuck on a stalled L train with no reception, panicking. At that moment, Liv didn’t care where she was.

Sam put the last of the bowls in the dishwasher. There were some strands of silver in an otherwise full head of dark hair. He was over six feet tall, but his posture was as relaxed as the old T-shirt he was wearing. If height was power, Sam didn’t feel the need to dominate. Eliot, at five seven, had always carried himself with the straightest spine possible and wore shoes with risers.

“Right, the lasagna needs another thirty minutes in the oven. Apps are here”—Sam gestured to a platter of brightly colored dips and finger foods—“and you’ve got enough risotto for a week.”

“Can’t we shuck more peas?” Ben whined, trailing him to the front door.

“Can’t, champ,” Sam said, “got to get home to my own family.”

Hot, hard disappointment punched Liv in the belly. The reaction was deeply embarrassing. She was too old to have a crush, or be the subject of one, and besides: he was married. Of course he was. Sam was gentle and funny, and his warm brown eyes crinkled nicely when he smiled.

“Your partner’s lucky,” Liv said, as they reached the door. “My, um, ex was