The Allure of Julian Lefray (The Allure #1)(79)

“Sounds good. Thanks for the ride!”

She pulled out of the driveway and I turned to the house. Nothing had changed in the months I’d been away. My mom still had roses in the front flowerbeds and my dad was a few days late on mowing the grass, as usual.

I smiled and headed for the front door just as it swept open and my mother appeared. She wiped her hands on her apron and stepped onto the porch. God, we looked so much alike. Her brown hair was chopped off in a short, blunt bob and she was wearing a sundress that was a familiar staple of my life growing up. Her face was makeup free, as usual, but she didn’t need any. Her green eyes were rimmed with dark lashes, like mine, and her smile was infectious enough not to need any lipstick.

“My Josie,” she beamed, pulling me in for a tight hug. I inhaled her scent and wrapped my arms around her, letting her envelop me in a much-needed hug.

“Hey Mom,” I said as she released me to grip my shoulders and get a good look at me.

Her smile faltered. “Are you eating up there in New York? You look too thin, sweetie.”

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. “I promise I’m eating a lot. I just walk everywhere.”

She pursed her lips, not quite sure if she wanted to trust my answer or not. I was sure by the time I left on Friday I’d have a heaping amount of food to take back with me, “just in case”.

“Where’s Dad?” I asked, dropping my bags in the foyer and stepping farther into the house.

My dad poked his head over the leather recliner in the living room, waving the remote control in greeting. “Hey sweetie!”

I smiled and bent down over the chair to give him a hug.

“Happy birthday, Dad.”

“Oh, thanks. It’s not every day that your old man turns forty.”

I laughed and kissed his cheek. “Whatever you say, pops.”

“C’mon, Josephine. You can help me with dinner while Dad finishes watching golf.”

When she turned, I made a gagging motion toward my dad. He laughed and shook his head.

“Go help her. She misses you, y’know.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

I dropped my luggage in the hallway and followed my mom into the kitchen.

“Bet you don’t get many home cooked meals up in New York,” she said, handing me an extra apron from the back of the pantry door. Our kitchen hadn’t changed at all in the last twenty years. Old floral wallpaper still covered the walls. Dark wood cabinets sat above weathered countertops. The refrigerator was still covered with drawings and photos of me from when I was younger.

I smiled at the sight.

“Actually, I fixed spaghetti for a friend just last week.”

Julian had complained that the noodles were so al dente that he chipped a tooth, so we’d tossed it out and gone for takeout instead. But technically, I cooked.

“Oh, so you’re finding friends? I’ve heard it can be pretty hard to get to know people up there.”

She passed me the pepper grinder and together we added salt and pepper to a chicken dish that was about to go into the oven. Carrots, peas, and onions were stuffed around the chicken inside the casserole dish. My mouth was already watering.

“Yeah. I have some friends.”

“Where’d you meet them?” she asked, glancing up at me over the chicken.

“Work,” I replied, dropping the peppershaker back onto the counter.

She went to work chopping up green beans and I stood to the side, trying to stay out of her way.

“And they’re good people?”

I laughed. “From what I’ve seen so far.”

She pursed her lips. “Well. I just want you to be careful. Don’t get swept off your feet by some guy. You need to focus on what’s important.”

I rolled my eyes when she turned to toss the green beans in a big pot to boil, deciding it was best to just stay silent. She hummed as she added spices to the green beans and I plopped down on one of the bar stools.

“Do you remember Sonya Foster?” she asked, glancing over her shoulder at me.

I quirked a brow. “She was in my graduating class. Why?”

She turned back around and shrugged. “She’s really made something out of that little salon downtown. People travel from all over to get haircuts from her. Her parents were bragging about it during dinner the other night.”

She waved the spoon in the air and kept on rambling.

“I think it’s just great that she’s brought something to our community like that.”

I gripped the edges of my stool. “Did you mention my career at dinner?”

She turned to reach for the salt and met my eye for a moment. Shame burned behind her gaze, plain to see.

“Your father and I told them you were in New York, but I couldn’t remember what your exact job title was and I didn’t want to get it wrong.” She shook her head. “The Fosters wouldn’t know anything about that sort of thing anyway.”

Of course, because country folk are incapable of learning things. Right.

“Y’know if you wanted to come home, I really think you could do something like Sonya has done. You could maybe even work for her for a little bit and get your bearings again.”

I scooted my stool back so that it scraped against the wood floor.

“Jo?”