Mind Games

“And by peeler, you mean?”

She looked over as he turned on the oven. “What you use to peel carrots, potatoes, and the like. I can use a paring knife, but I know Miss Leona had a peeler.”

“A paring knife is … Okay, I’m messing with you.” He opened a drawer, produced a potato peeler. “We also like carrots raw with dip, so peeler.”

“All right, see if you can find another. Then all we need for these are butter, pepper, and thyme. The herb.”

“I got butter. Not yours because we devoured that, but I’ve got butter and pepper. The only time I’ve got comes in minutes.”

She shook her head. “Get some scissors and step outside with me a minute.”

When he did, she pointed at what remained of Miss Leona’s herb patch. “You got thyme right here. This patch needs weeding.”

Frowning, Ty just stared at it. “You’d have to know what’s a weed and what’s a thing, then what the thing is.”

“Yes, you would. We can have that lesson after dinner.”

She snipped thyme.

As they went in, boy and dog ran out. “We run!”

“Stay where I can see you.”

She walked Ty through the process, then slid the dish of carrots in the oven to roast in herbs and butter.

“Got potatoes?” she asked him.

“Sure.” Opening a cupboard, he pulled out a box of instant mashed potatoes.

“Absolutely not. Ever. Put that away before I lose all respect for you.”

“They’re not that bad.”

“Away. You’re better off telling me you do wet work for the CIA than showing me dried-up boxed potato flakes.”

“It was only one job—well, two, but they both had it coming. How about these?” After digging in the freezer, he held up bags. One of Tater Tots, one of frozen fries.

“Tyler, that just makes me sad. We’ll go with the fries. I can doctor them up some. Put them back for now. The peas won’t take long, but those carrots need a while. We can make the patties. Do you have an egg?”

“I’ve got a couple left. For what?”

“Since I’m here. We need a bowl for mixing the meat and egg, a little rosemary—you’ve got a nice little bush out there. Salt, pepper.”

“I usually just sort of—” He lifted his hands, opened and closed those long fingers. “Smoosh.”

“You can do that, or … Why don’t you beat up an egg? I’ll get the rosemary.”

When she came back, she stripped the rosemary from the stem, chopped it fine. Standing hip-to-hip, she showed him how to mix it all in a bowl.

“You always smell so good.”

“That’s the rosemary.”

“It doesn’t hurt, but no, it’s you. I’ve got a weakness for women who smell good.”

She tipped her face up to his. “I’ll have to thank Grammie’s soaps and lotions for giving me that advantage.”

As he lowered his head, Bray called out from outside the screen door.