Brett
There were only two smells that could pull every college athlete into one room without fail.
Fresh coffee…
And Olivia’s cooking.
By the time I pulled into the driveway of the Old Lady House, I could already smell garlic, onions, and something baking in the oven through the open kitchen window.
I smiled to myself.
Whatever she was making, it was going to disappear in record time.
The Old Lady House had earned its nickname years before any of us moved in. It sat wedged between the Football House and several fraternity and sorority houses, the only place on Greek Row that had once belonged to an elderly woman instead of a group of college students. Even after her family moved her into assisted living and started renting the place out, everyone kept calling it the Old Lady House.
