smile.
“No doubt.”
The doorbell rang and I headed to the door to greet Stephen and Brooke, more than a little curious. After the big buildup, I had to wonder about the infamous preteen. Was she really as moody as he’d let on? If so, I’d better prepare myself.
My mother reached the door first. I stepped behind her, noticing the beautiful young woman with the curly brunette hair standing behind Stephen. She was petite with gorgeous brown eyes—eyes that stood in direct contrast to the unhappy look on her face.
Other than the expression, nothing about her stood out or seemed unusual. I wasn’t sure what I’d expected. Attila the Hun? A gothic-looking kid dressed in black? Instead, I found a typical-looking preteen, maybe a little small for her age, who seemed shy at best. And that beautiful dark hair. Wow! She could do shampoo commercials with hair like that.
“You must be Brooke.” My mama swept the young woman into her arms and began to murmur her welcome in Greek. “Oh, you sweet, sweet girl!”
Brooke seemed to freeze up in my mother’s embrace. Obviously her tongue was frozen too. She didn’t say a word, though her wide eyes spoke volumes. So did the glare that followed when my mother squeezed her tighter.
Mama never seemed to notice, thankfully. She took Brooke by the arm and led her into the living room, babbling on and on, half in English, half in Greek.
I kept a watchful eye on Stephen, whose gaze shifted from my mother to me to the various paintings of Greece on the walls, then back to me.
“Feels like home here,” he said at last. “Smells like it too.” He closed his eyes and appeared to be breathing in the scent.
“My dad’s in the kitchen, cooking,” I said. “He’s going to ask you to stay for dinner, so prepare yourself. He loves to cook for people. No one is a stranger in his kitchen.”
“I would think he’d get his fill at the shop.”
“Oh no. My dad’s a whiz at the stove. I think he would’ve done really well as a chef. Full Greek cuisine, I mean. Not just sandwiches.”
A satisfied look came over Stephen. “I get hungry just thinking about all the foods my grandmother used to make. I lived with her for a few years when I was in elementary school and got an education that no public school could top. She was the best cook I’ve ever known.”
Interesting. I wanted to ask more about that but never got the chance. Off in the distance, Zeus began to bark. For the first time, a hint of a smile lit Brooke’s face.
“Is that our dog?” she asked.
“It is.” I turned to face the girl, dazzled by the genuine sweetness in her smile as Zeus came running into the room. “He’s a Greek Domestic Dog.”
“A Greek Domestic Dog?” She knelt on the floor and began to tickle the mongrel’s tummy. “Never heard of that breed. I’ll have to look it up on the internet.” She rolled her eyes. “But it figures. With my dad, everything is better if it’s Greek.” Her attention shifted back to the dog.
Mama turned to Stephen and grinned. “A good Greek boy.” Her gaze traveled back and forth between Stephen and me, and I could hear her unspoken words: Perhaps my daughter won’t be a spinster after all!
Thankfully, Stephen couldn’t read her thoughts like I could. His attention remained fixed on his daughter. They seemed to have an unspoken conversation going on too. Funny how that worked. Parents and children just had a knack for speaking without words.
“Hey now,” he said. “Nothing wrong with appreciating your heritage.”
Brooke rolled her eyes. “I just have to hear about it all the time. And besides, you’ve never even been to Greece, Dad.”
“I’ll get there someday,” he said. “It’s only a dream so far, but I know it’s going to happen. Wait and see.”
Me too.
I knelt on the floor next to Brooke and petted Zeus. “I’d never heard of this breed either,” I admitted. “Had to look it up myself. I know your dad said he’s supposed
“No doubt.”
The doorbell rang and I headed to the door to greet Stephen and Brooke, more than a little curious. After the big buildup, I had to wonder about the infamous preteen. Was she really as moody as he’d let on? If so, I’d better prepare myself.
My mother reached the door first. I stepped behind her, noticing the beautiful young woman with the curly brunette hair standing behind Stephen. She was petite with gorgeous brown eyes—eyes that stood in direct contrast to the unhappy look on her face.
Other than the expression, nothing about her stood out or seemed unusual. I wasn’t sure what I’d expected. Attila the Hun? A gothic-looking kid dressed in black? Instead, I found a typical-looking preteen, maybe a little small for her age, who seemed shy at best. And that beautiful dark hair. Wow! She could do shampoo commercials with hair like that.
“You must be Brooke.” My mama swept the young woman into her arms and began to murmur her welcome in Greek. “Oh, you sweet, sweet girl!”
Brooke seemed to freeze up in my mother’s embrace. Obviously her tongue was frozen too. She didn’t say a word, though her wide eyes spoke volumes. So did the glare that followed when my mother squeezed her tighter.
Mama never seemed to notice, thankfully. She took Brooke by the arm and led her into the living room, babbling on and on, half in English, half in Greek.
I kept a watchful eye on Stephen, whose gaze shifted from my mother to me to the various paintings of Greece on the walls, then back to me.
“Feels like home here,” he said at last. “Smells like it too.” He closed his eyes and appeared to be breathing in the scent.
“My dad’s in the kitchen, cooking,” I said. “He’s going to ask you to stay for dinner, so prepare yourself. He loves to cook for people. No one is a stranger in his kitchen.”
“I would think he’d get his fill at the shop.”
“Oh no. My dad’s a whiz at the stove. I think he would’ve done really well as a chef. Full Greek cuisine, I mean. Not just sandwiches.”
A satisfied look came over Stephen. “I get hungry just thinking about all the foods my grandmother used to make. I lived with her for a few years when I was in elementary school and got an education that no public school could top. She was the best cook I’ve ever known.”
Interesting. I wanted to ask more about that but never got the chance. Off in the distance, Zeus began to bark. For the first time, a hint of a smile lit Brooke’s face.
“Is that our dog?” she asked.
“It is.” I turned to face the girl, dazzled by the genuine sweetness in her smile as Zeus came running into the room. “He’s a Greek Domestic Dog.”
“A Greek Domestic Dog?” She knelt on the floor and began to tickle the mongrel’s tummy. “Never heard of that breed. I’ll have to look it up on the internet.” She rolled her eyes. “But it figures. With my dad, everything is better if it’s Greek.” Her attention shifted back to the dog.
Mama turned to Stephen and grinned. “A good Greek boy.” Her gaze traveled back and forth between Stephen and me, and I could hear her unspoken words: Perhaps my daughter won’t be a spinster after all!
Thankfully, Stephen couldn’t read her thoughts like I could. His attention remained fixed on his daughter. They seemed to have an unspoken conversation going on too. Funny how that worked. Parents and children just had a knack for speaking without words.
“Hey now,” he said. “Nothing wrong with appreciating your heritage.”
Brooke rolled her eyes. “I just have to hear about it all the time. And besides, you’ve never even been to Greece, Dad.”
“I’ll get there someday,” he said. “It’s only a dream so far, but I know it’s going to happen. Wait and see.”
Me too.
I knelt on the floor next to Brooke and petted Zeus. “I’d never heard of this breed either,” I admitted. “Had to look it up myself. I know your dad said he’s supposed
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