“Hey, Bubblegummy!” I called out, raising my voice just enough to carry across the deck, wanting nothing more than to actually talk to my little sister for a few uninterrupted minutes. “Can you come check out these steaks?”
Of course, I didn’t need her to look over the steaks. I knew exactly how to cook them—down to the second. It was a Mitchell Man tradition. The one thing our dad had mastered in the kitchen—steaks. And not just throwing them on the grill. No, he had perfected every detail, from marinating them just right to hitting the exact level of doneness for each guest. He had passed that knowledge down to me like it was sacred. The marinade recipe? Practically a family heirloom.
But this wasn’t about steaks. This was about Cora. I had a feeling she needed to talk, that she needed
