When Noah opened the refrigerator, he found a lovely surprise. Centered on the middle shelf with a note attached was a warming dish containing his mum's meatloaf with two side dishes and a slice of pie covered with plastic wrap. He pulled out the dishes, then read the note.
Thought you'd be too tired to cook and dropped this off earlier in the day. Dishes work in the microwave or oven. Love, Mum.
Noah melted. He reread the note, then rubbed his eyes because they suddenly felt leaky or something. His mum was the best. She always knew what he needed. He flipped on the oven, fixed a glass of water, and called his mother to thank her.
"Oliver here." Noah smiled at the military-like precision with which his father answered the phone. It had taken his mother years to get him to use his first name instead of their surname.
"Hey, Pops."
"Noah! You made it back in one piece."
"It would seem so, yes."
"That bad, huh?"
Noah swallowed. He wasn't usually so transparent. He must be more tired than he realized. "Not really. But I've been on high alert for the last four days and can finally ratchet back down to normal."
"Yeah, it hits you that way. Food in your belly and a good night's sleep should help. How's your coworker lady? Did she survive?"
Noah heard his mum in the background asking who was on the phone and his dad's muffled answer. The oven's preheat warning beeped, and he put the phone on speaker so he could talk while he dealt with the food.
"She seems to be okay. I think it was all a grand adventure for her." He sat down at the kitchen table, nudging his discarded boots aside and stretching his legs underneath.
As his dad chuckled, a click announced his mother picking up the extension in the other room. His parents still had a landline in the house with two extensions. Calls home were usually group conversations.
"Noah, how are you, sweetie? Did you find your dinner? I brought it over this afternoon."
"Dee! Give the boy a chance to answer," his father said, laughing.
"Sorry, sorry! I've been so worried about you."
"It's not like he's a grown-ass man or anything, you know."
Noah waited for their squabbling to finish before greeting his mother. "Hey, Mum. Your delicious meatloaf warms in my oven as we speak. I was calling to say thank you. My cupboards were pretty empty, so you're a lifesaver."
"You're welcome, my sweet boy. I also stuck a couple of rolls in your breadbox, so heat those up and slap some butter on them."
Noah stood and walked to the counter, extracted the rolls, and tossed them onto the plate in the oven. "Got 'em. Thanks. I'm so tired, I might have missed them."
"He's on the comedown," Oliver said. Being a military wife and married to an adrenaline junkie, Noah's mum would understand the slang.
With his phone still on speaker, Noah walked back to his bedroom, tossed the towel in the wicker hamper, then threw on a pair of gym shorts and a t-shirt as he listened.
"Oh, well, then we won't keep you long so you can get some sleep, but I did want to talk to you about having dinner with us this week. We want to invite you and your workmate—what's her name again, sweetie?—to dinner one night before she goes back home. I'm sure the girl could use a home-cooked meal."
Wait a minute. His brain blipped, trying to wake him up. "Claire. Her name is Claire. I don't know, Mum. That feels too personal. It might be awkward."
"Oh, please. You've just spent three days crammed together in some isolated Scottish village. You two are beyond the personal at this point."
What the hell? There were many times growing up he and his brothers discussed the possibility their mother might have witchy powers, and this was a prime example of her knowing more than she should. Before he could speak, she continued.
"How about tomorrow night?"
"Um, we have plans tomorrow evening. Work plans," he clarified before his mum got the wrong idea. Although, their plans weren't work-related at all. Claire had cornered him at lunch today and demanded he fulfill his promise to let her cook in his kitchen. They'd settled on tomorrow night for the date. And he intended to make it a date. He wanted to recapture those warm, fuzzy feelings he'd experienced when they were alone in Scotland.
"And she's flying back Saturday?—"
"Friday is perfect." His mum cut him off before he could argue further. "We'll see you Friday here at our house for dinner. Don't worry, I'll cook something she'll like."
