“You didn’t?” Wilma sucked in a breath. “Then I have so much to tell you. Come on.”
We didn’t wait for Tyton to park his bike before we went into the house.
“My parents can’t wait to meet you.” Holding my hand and leading me into a kitchen, Wilma talked over her shoulder. “My mom and I found the best disguise for you. We’ve decided that your name is Devin. That way it will be natural for you to react if we talk to you and oh, you’re fourteen years old.”
“Fourteen?”
“Yes. If anyone asks about your small frame, we’ll just say that you’re a late bloomer. Sit here while I make us some breakfast.”
Tyton came through the door and rolled his eyes with a chuckle. “What are you doing?”
“Making breakfast.”
“Did you forget that your friend doesn’t eat animal products.” He nodded to Wilma’s hands that were holding eggs and bacon from the fridge.
Wilma frowned. “I was going to make her some fruit and pancakes, but the rest of us can still have our breakfast, can’t we?”
“Yes, of course.” I didn’t feel it was my place to challenge their food habits. My purpose here was to research the culture of the Northlands, not to preach.
“How were you going to make pancakes when she can’t have eggs and milk? How about you leave the cooking to me while you make sure Mom and Dad are up.”
“Okay. I want my egg with the sunny side up.”
Tyton washed his hands and looked back at her. “You forgot to say please.” But Wilma was already gone.
“Do you like to cook?” I asked when it was just him and me.
“I wouldn’t say that I like it, but it comes with being an adult, doesn’t it?”
“Someone should have told my parents that. When I moved to the city to study, I’d never learned how to cook for myself. Here I was, ready to conquer the world and too proud to call home and admit that I was sick of living off salad, pancakes, and store-bought soup.”
Tyton was cracking eggs on a hot pan but looked up. “So, what did you do?”
“The only thing I could do. I signed up for cooking classes. They offer them at all universities, I think.”
“And did it help?”
“I’m no master chef, but I learned how to bake, and I make a wicked spinach lasagna.”
His lips pursed up. “According to whom?”
“According to me.” I was sitting on a bar stool at the kitchen counter and rose up in my chair.
“How about you make me your lasagna one day and let me judge for myself.” Tyton didn’t look at me when he said it. In fact, he made it sound so casual, as if it was a given that I’d be back to visit his family in the future. No, not his family, since he had only referred to himself.
Woosh, another rush of nervous energy made my stomach bubble up in that tickling feeling that I got from sudden drops in airplanes or roller coasters.
Why does he make me so nervous?
“Or are you too scared to let me judge for myself?”
“What?” For a moment I was lost.
“You said that you make a wicked lasagna and I challenged you to a test, so I can see if you’re right.”
“Do you even like spinach lasagna?”
“I’ve never had it. We make lasagna with meat.”
