The toaster oven hummed quietly. Mr. Jay had already left for work and Mrs. Jay—Marianne—had told me to help myself to some breakfast, anything I found in the fridge and the cabinets, before she had disappeared into the downstairs bathroom armed with pink rubber gloves, a sponge, and a can of Scrubbing Bubbles. I had found peppermint tea in a cabinet above the sink and rummaged through the fridge for something to put on the browning bread. My excavation turned up butter, sliced Swiss cheese, smoked ham, and Sally's Homemade Blackberry Jelly, the latter of which I chose.

This morning, I was in a good mood and ready to roll up my sleeves. The previous night, John and I had wanted to watch a movie, but that had turned into taking a trip down memory lane. He had a whole shelf full of DVDs from all genres in the TV room in the basement. And by 'shelf', I don't mean one board, but the entire piece of furniture. John rediscovered some of his favorite films he had forgotten about and his eyes had sparkled like a boy's on Christmas morning. All the while, I had asked him questions about the pieces I had found interesting. How had he acquired this particular item? Did he remember with whom he watched it for the first time? How old had he been? Was the movie better or worse than its IMDb rating?

Soon, the goal of deciding on a movie to watch had been forgotten and we were engrossed in a conversation about favorite movies (his was The Godfather, mine The Grand Budapest Hotel), actors and actresses (he didn't have one, or so he claimed, so refused to tell him mine), and book adaptations (he had never read the Harry Potter series either). When we had looked at the clock, it had already been 11 pm and too late to start a movie. Both tired from the day and the drive, we had decided to call it a night.

The guest room in which I was quartered was right across the carpeted hall from John's room and beside Andrew's room in which he and his fiancée, Laura, would be staying the following night. The other rooms on the floor were Mr. Jay's study and, at the end of the hallway, a bathroom the size of my bedroom at home. The master bedroom and ensuite bathroom were John's parents' and located on the first floor. The house was spacious, something I wasn't used to.

As sizable as it was, though, as aware was I that I was sleeping closer to John than I had ever slept. It was still surreal, staying here at his house with his family, sleeping in the room right opposite his childhood bedroom where he had spent thousands of nights studying, playing games on his phone, and falling asleep to the song of the robin in the backyard.

I placed my breakfast ingredients on the dining table and decided to wait on John when—speak of the devil—he entered the kitchen and, as always, my pulse picked up. He was wearing dark blue Panther sweatpants, a faded red t-shirt flecked with gray, and his hair was still a mess, at least as much of a mess as short hair could be. I fought the urge to run my hands through it to smooth it over.

"Morning," he said and stretched, allowing a glimpse of his trained abs underneath his t-shirt. Was he doing this on purpose? Was it because I had teased him about admiring the photo of his shirtless brother the day before?

The toaster swallowed the two slices of bread he threw at it, before he took a mug to the multifunctional monster that was the fully automated coffee maker. Upon pressing a button, the machine ground and spewed and rattled and squeezed the dark liquid into the blue-and-white Panther Pride mug.

"Did I miss the part where my making breakfast became a sensation?" His lazy smirk turned my stomach upside down.

Ugh, why did he have to be so attentive? And arrogant. My cheeks warmed and looked at the piece of blackberry jelly toast on my plate instead. Did he know I liked him? Was it that obvious?

"Why are you so flustered?" His laugh was unfairly melodic.

Did everyone know? Devin? And Linh? Oh my God, did John's family know? I would have been mortified talking to them again.

"I'm not," I mumbled and picked at an invisible piece of lint on my gray t-shirt.

At this moment, Marianne barged into the room, quickly looked back and forth between her son and me, and wiped her forehead with the back of her arm. "I don't know what this is about, but quit bullying our guest, John."

He raised his hands in defense, still laughing. "Why do you assume I was bullying anyone, Mom? I didn't do a thing."

I arched my eyebrows to say 'Yeah, right' and Marianne caught it and shot a scolding look at her son.

"Anyway. Hon, will you and Grace go grocery shopping for me while I'm tied up wiping down every surface in this house?"

"Mom, you don't have to go crazy cleaning every year. It's only Andrew and Laura who are coming over."

"John, why do we have to discuss this every year? Other people do spring cleaning, I do Thanksgiving cleaning."

"Mom, you also do spring cleaning."

"John, you could help get it done twice as fast if you pitched in."

"We've got the groceries covered."

Marianne rolled her eyes.

Grinning, John walked up to her and gave her a side hug. "You looove me."

She sighed, but couldn't keep the corners of her mouth from tugging upwards. I was somewhat relieved to see that even his own mother was affected by his charm.

"I do love you, but I need to get moving and I need you to do the same. It's the day before Thanksgiving and the store will be bananas if you leave too late. The grocery list is under the magnet on the fridge. You can show Grace some of the area, but please be back by 1. And pick up subs for us three on the way home? I cannot cook today if it's not in relation to Thanksgiving."

***

John's mom had sent us to Whole Foods first, where we had bought the fruit and vegetables—among them the largest pumpkin we could find—, and then to Target. Early on, I had snatched the list from John's hands after noticing the vacant stare in his eyes. We would have never made it back in time if he had taken the lead. He complained for a minute, but soon agreed I was the more qualified person to be in charge. So while I roamed the refrigerators for the mountains of food Marianne wanted, John disappeared on me. I had no idea where he had gone and he didn't respond to my text, so I shrugged and went about my business. I had just hoisted two gallons of milk into the cart when John returned wearing black plush cat ears attached to a hair circlet.

I lifted my eyebrows. "Really?"

Mischief glinted in John's eyes. "Don't be mad, I got you one, too. You like cats, right?"

I hadn't been aware he knew. Without further ado, he slipped the second circlet onto my head and behind my ears before I could protest. Blowing a strand of hair out of my face, I stared him down with narrowed eyes.

"We need to get groceries for your mom," I reminded him.

"So? It's only 10:30 now and we don't have to be back until 1. We've got plenty of time for a selfie."

Before I knew it, John had slipped out his phone and taken a picture of us with his front camera. When he showed it to me and realized I looked at him like a pouty child while John sent a beaming smile into the camera, an honest laugh escaped my throat in spite of myself. He joined in.

"Okay, wait," I asked, "that cannot be the only picture we take today, let's do another one and I'll see if I can muster a friendlier look."

"I thought that was your friendly look—ow! Quit punching me!" Still laughing, he positioned the camera again.

I put on my best photogenic face and showed my teeth in a wide smile. John wanted to take a couple more to be safe and we varied expressions from shocked to goofy to detective-y. When an older gentleman who had been standing by eventually asked us to step aside so he could reach the dairy, we burst out laughing and apologized before moving along the aisle.

While John was returning the cat ears to their rack, I found the butter section where I was hunting for dairy products when my phone chimed.

Linh: How are things going in NY?

Me: Pretty awesome. John's mom is the sweetest. I'm helping prepare the dinner. Pumpkin pie, here I come!

Linh: Ooh, so American. Make me one when you get back.

Just then, another message arrived in my inbox.

Liam: Hey, how are you? How is everything going?

Me: It's going well! Grocery shopping for Mrs. Jay right now. She's great!

Liam: What else do you have planned for today?

Me: Helping pre-cook for tomorrow, I'm in charge of the pumpkin pie.

Liam: Delicious! Is John helping?

Me: Yes, but he doesn't know it yet.

Liam: Haha, sounds good. :) Amelia and I are on the pumpkin pie front here.

Me: Good luck! Gotta get on with it now or I'll be missing the ingredients to do it, but I'll talk to you later.

The deal we had made had been implicit, yet clear: if I kept in touch, he'd be a good sport about this situation, even if it was not easy for him. I was trying to find a balance between texting him back and not constantly being on my phone. Had I told John about the fight, he would have said it was my free choice where I wanted to spend Thanksgiving and that Liam needed to stop suffocating me. At least that was what he had suggested a couple of times when Liam had asked me to eat with him instead of John and Devin. It might have been true if it weren't for the fact that I wasn't exactly without blame. This was an argument I was not getting into with John, so I was glad he didn't ask about my boyfriend.

"Hey there, you come here often?" John asked as he approached and laid a hand on the edge of the cart.

"Not really," I went along, "I'm only here for the week and I'm staying with my friend who is a star athlete."

"Is he, now?"

"Yeah, he scored the winning goal for his team in the world soccer league last season."

"That's not a real thing."

His smirk radiated off his lips so temptingly that I had to pull my eyes away. God, why does he have to make me feel all fuzzy and tangled?

Still in character, I flipped my hair over my shoulder. "I'm sorry, but his fame isn't tarnished by your ignorance."

"Sounds like I'm missing out. I must meet him. I bet he's irresistibly handsome." He lifted his eyebrows to match his cocky grin.

And why can't I stop? This isn't right.

"He's alright." I grinned, brushing my hair behind my ear, and he jokingly narrowed his eyes. "John, I barely recognize you, you're... exuberant."

"Being off school for almost a week will do that to you."

"Is this the right time to ask you to bake the pie with me?"

"Me and baking? Not happening. Did I tell you I once forgot to add water to a microwavable ramen cup once and sent all of Battell onto the lawn in a fire alarm? The entire hall reeked of molten plastic for weeks after. Have you ever smelled molten plastic? Because I'm not sure you're grasping the seriousness of this incident."

"John, that was freshman year if you were living in Battell. No one remembers. You can safely resume your home ec training now."

"First of all," he replied, "everyone who was living in Battell at the time remembers, second of all, no."

I beamed at him. "We'll see about that."

"Texting Jessica?"

I smirked at his diversion."Linh and Liam. Hey, do you know what box size butter your mom wants?"

He looked at me blankly.

"Like, how many sticks?"

His facial expression remained the same.

"Okay, never mind. Can you call her and ask?"

Not without relief, he pulled out his phone, hit number 1 on speed dial and waited two rings until Marianne picked up. Marianne's answer marked the return of the puzzlement on his face and he passed his phone to me.

"Hi, Marianne. They've got the 16- and the 32-ounce boxes of butter here. Which one do you want?"

"Go ahead and get the 32 ounces. Now act like I'm still talking to you about the butter. Is John being nice to you?"

I suppressed a smile and inspected the cartons of butter more closely, pretending she wanted to know details. "Yes."

"Alright, make him give you my number, just in case. And you let me know when he's misbehaving again."

"I will, thank you. But don't you mean 'if'?"

Her smirk was audible when she insisted: "When."

A laugh escaped from my mouth. "See you later."

"See you later, Grace."

John looked at me with wide eyes. "Dude, butter is a science in its own right, huh?"

***

"Okay, now slowly add the water, please," I asked, glancing at my phone to check the photo of the recipe Grampa had sent me from Grammy's famous cookbook. I was still mad at Dad, but I could always count on Grampa.

The water pit-patted into the mixing bowl almost by the drop. I had already combined the flour, salt, and vegetable oil for the pie shell and now needed someone with a free hand to assist with pouring the water while I tossed the pastry with a fork. Ha, so much for John's insistence he wouldn't be caught dead baking.

"Pay attention, John, I'm already putting you down for the pie for next year." Marianne flitted into the kitchen and right back out.

"For the sake of all of us, I hope you're kidding!" John called after her somewhat helplessly.

"Alright, thanks. Now I'll press this into the pie plate and you crack two eggs into the bowl over there. Only the inside, please, no shells."

"Ha ha. Relax, I've got this. I've made scrambled eggs before."

Surprisingly, he handled the pie filling well so I had time to put away some ingredients and wipe the counter clean as we went. The picture of John operating the hand beater seemed off, but getting to know new sides of John this week warmed my insides. I secretly picked up my phone and took a photo of John wearing a blue-and-white flowered apron, a crease between his eyebrows while he was laser-focused on beating the batter. Suppressing a chuckle, I sent it to Marianne's number.

Before I could slip the device onto the counter again, it vibrated with a new message.

Liam: How's your pie looking? Ours is in the oven.

Then a photo of a radiant Amelia giving a thumbs up while squatting next to the oven in which something pie-shaped was visible. Liam's checking in showed he cared about me and I had promised to text, but it was a little much. If I kept replying to his messages, I would miss being here with John and his family, prepping for the holidays. Ironically, it occurred to me, being on my phone and missing the moment was the very thing Liam would often criticize.

Me: Not quite that far, but getting there. Sorry, I can't text much today, trying to be more present. Talk soon.

Fifteen minutes later, our pie was in the oven as well and John was washing his hands as I cleaned up the manageable rest of the mess.

"Well, this was nice. Thanks for your help. I bet ours will turn out better than the one Liam and his sister are making right now."

"Of course, with your Grammy's recipe and without a guy trying to control your every move."

I sucked in a breath. Here we go. Why did I have to mention his name? This type of conversation with John always left me confused and irritable and I didn't want to feel that way. Not this week. Not here.

My dread must have showed on my face, because John sighed. "I'm sorry. I know I said you could talk about him and he's your boyfriend and all, but ugh," he rolled his shoulders and stretched his neck, "we don't get along."

My eyebrows shot up. Oh, really. I hadn't noticed.

Before I reacted verbally, however, I reigned my sarcasm back in. "He's not as bad as you make him out to be. He's actually sweet and attentive and caring."

John's silence spoke louder than any skeptical retort could have. The air in the kitchen had thickened quickly, and not just from the heat of the oven.

Thankfully, the heavens had mercy on me. Marianne's dash back into the room sliced clean through the tension. She stopped for a moment to marvel at the pastry whose aroma was already beginning to fill the kitchen.

"I'm impressed."

"Thanks, Mom," John smiled proudly.

"Oh, well, yes, by you as well. I meant I'm impressed that Grace got you to bake. And thanks for the photo, Grace." Her wink caught John's attention.

"What photo?"

Both his mom and I kept our mouths shut and smiled knowingly.

"Grace, what photo?" he repeated and his eyes focused on mine intensely. I held his gaze before he turned to his mother. "Mom? Are you teaming up on me?"

We erupted in laughter, leaving John to flail his armsin surrender.