“Go get the baking sheet,” Mrs. B said to Rebekah.
Rebekah glanced at Eric and then went to retrieve a baking sheet, her buttery hands in the air.
“Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing,” Mrs. B said to Eric as soon as Rebekah was out of earshot. “Trying to interfere with her relationship with Isaac. It won’t work. She will marry that young man, and you will not mess things up.”
Wow, this woman hated him. It wasn’t the first time someone had hated Eric, but it didn’t usually bother him this much.
“Why are you busting my balls, lady?”
Mrs. B’s eyebrows attempted to disappear into her hairline. “Didn’t your mother ever teach you any manners?”
“No, actually, she deserted me when I was four years old.”
“I can understand why,” Mrs. B huffed.
Eric set his jaw in a harsh line and dropped the shaker on the counter. He felt like he’d had the wind knocked out of him. He didn’t often think about the mother who had left him behind. He sure as hell didn’t agonize over his situation or let it bother him, but that… that hurt. Stomach in knots, heart aching, eyes stinging, Eric turned and strode away before he called Rebekah’s mother a f**king bitch to her face.
“What did you say to him?” he heard Rebekah ask her mother as she returned with the baking sheet.
“Nothing,” Mrs. B said in a saccharine sweet voice. “Isaac,” she called. “Would you mind helping Rebekah cut the dough into strips? She was never any good at it.”
“Sure thing, Mrs. B,” Isaac said eagerly.
Aggie snagged Eric around the waist as he stalked by. “We could use some help,” she said. Eric found himself wedged between Jace and Aggie. They continued to peel potatoes. Eric stood there and gulped air.
“You okay?” Jace asked.
“I was until Mrs. Bitch showed up.”
Jace sniggered. “She makes a guy miss his mama not at all.”
“I think she’s even worse than my mother,” Aggie said, “and that’s saying something.”
“She gets along with Isaac fine. She just hates me.”
Aggie bumped Eric’s leg with her hip. “She doesn’t know you, doll. If she got to know you—”
“She’d hate me even more. Maybe I should get a haircut and wear something nice and be more careful about what I say and—”
“Don’t go there, dude,” Jace said.
“Who cares what Mrs. Blake thinks about you?” Aggie said. “Rebekah loves you. What her mother thinks doesn’t matter.”
The three turned to watch Mrs. B chatter animatedly with Isaac, who was cutting dough into strips, while Rebekah coiled them and placed them on the baking sheet. Rebekah glanced at Eric and offered him a miserable smile before turning her attention back to her dough arranging.
“Rebekah would obviously rather be over here with you,” Aggie said.
“Yeah? So what’s stopping her?”
Aggie shoved the pot of peeled potatoes into Eric’s chest. “Go rinse these in the sink over there, and bring them back so we can cut them up.”
Eric did as he was told. While he was washing the potatoes, Rebekah appeared at his side. “Do you mind if I wash my hands?” she asked. She held her greasy fingers up for inspection. “I’m
all buttery.”
Eric stepped aside. “Go right ahead.”
“Did my mother say something to you?” she asked as she scrubbed her hands with dish soap.
“No.”
She sighed heavily. “Liar.”
She rinsed her hands and was gone before he could find his tongue. He was starting to wish he’d never come. The heartache wasn’t worth viewing Rebekah from afar.
Eric did his best to avoid Rebekah and crew while they were in the kitchen. When it came time to serve, he found himself in charge of serving mashed potatoes. Rebekah was to his right with the gravy, and Isaac to his left with the stuffing. Hell. On. Earth.
What made it worse was that Trey was at the end of the line. Being the social creature that he was, he kept slowing up the line as he chatted with and teased every person who wanted dessert. And everyone wanted dessert when Trey Mills was offering it.
“Can I get some extra stuffing?” a legless man in a wheelchair asked Isaac as they waited for the line to start moving again.
“Of course. Just don’t tell my boss,” Isaac said and scooped more stuffing onto the man’s plate.
“You can have extra potatoes too, if you want,” Eric said.
“I would like more potatoes. Thanks.”
Eric added potatoes to his plate.
“The stuffing is excellent,” Isaac said and scooped more onto the man’s plate.
“But not as good as the potatoes,” Eric insisted and added to the heap already on his plate.
The man looked relieved when the line started moving, and he could get some gravy for his mountains of stuffing and mashed potatoes.
Isaac scooped larger and larger servings of stuffing onto each plate. Not to be one-upped by a twerp, Eric made sure each person’s serving of potatoes was larger than their pile of stuffing.
“What are you trying to prove, rock star?” Isaac growled out of the corner of his mouth.
“Not a thing, doc.”
Rebekah shook her head. “Will you two take it easy? We’re going to run out of food. I know you’re both generous, but—”
“I’m way more generous than he is,” Isaac said.
“Not!” Eric added.
The news crew flitted about, zooming in on the band members as they served people they would never encounter on a regular day. Despite Isaac’s constant presence as a thorn in his side, Eric started to remember why he was there in the first place.
It wasn’t to ogle Rebekah. It wasn’t to wonder if he’d ever win over Mrs. B. It wasn’t for good publicity. It wasn’t even to hang out with his best friends. It was to make a small difference in a stranger’s life. Instead of stuffing visitors with potatoes, he shifted his focus to talking to them while they waited for Trey to stop yakking at the end of the line.
When a mother with two young daughters made their way through the line, Eric’s heart melted. The two girls stared at him with wide eyes, uncertain what to make of the tall, thin guy with the crazy hair.
“How come your hair is blue right there?” one of the girls asked. Eric estimated her to be about seven.
“I wanted it to match your eyes.”