Lana
There was a light knock on the door; just one, and my mom appeared, balancing a tray with two tall glasses of lemonade. “Thought you might need something to drink while you work,” she said, walking in before I could object.
“Thanks, Mrs. Booth,” Theo said politely, standing as she set the tray on my desk.
“Oh, nonsense. Sit down, sit down. You’re not twelve anymore.” She smiled like he was still the sweet boy that lived down the street. “MIT must be keeping you busy still managing to eat, I hope?”
Theo grinned. “Barely. Nothing tastes right after you’ve had Lana’s cooking.” he said like he ate my food every day. It was just twice; once when he and his sister were stuck at my Mom’s house during a thunderstorm, and another when I cooked for Logan’s funeral.
I had to make all the
