I offered to help, but he wouldn’t hear of it. He said I was a guest, and guests don’t cook.
“No fretting,” he grinned at me, “The next time you visit, I’ll let you help.”
The next time? Would there be a next time? I looked at Gabriel as he chopped tomatoes. Did he want me to visit again?
“Wow, that was really good,” I said, placing my fork down on my plate.
We were sitting around the dining room table. My plate was completely bare. I was convinced that Pops was a magician because there was no other explanation for how delicious that food was.
The dining room table was large enough for 12 people, but we occupied one end of it with our plates and glasses. The room was massive, with large windows that allowed in ample natural light.
I felt my phone buzz and saw that I had a text
