Milo stared down at his feet as his cheeks turned pink.
“Whatever you’re talking about, it’s making Milo blush,” Mom said coming down the steps.
I shared a look with Milo and we laughed.
“No worries, Annie. We’re talking potions and charms. All business.”
“Did you three save room for dessert?”
“Always,” Milo said.
“Metabolism of a nineteen-year-old.” Finn patted his stomach.
“You can’t let the boys have all the fun. Can you, Zoe?” Mom said. “I’ll have a slice too.”
“What are we having?”
“That depends,” Mom said. “We’ll take a vote. Chocolate cake, apple pie, pumpkin pie, or ice cream. Or ice cream on one of the aforementioned. But the vote must be unanimous because we shouldn’t cut more than one.”
I knew what Milo wanted. He’d practically jumped in the air and raised his hand when he heard pumpkin pie.
“I guess we should let Dr. Finnegan choose,” Milo said.
“Call me Finn,” Finn said. “I’m sure we can reach an agreement.”
“Aren’t we saving the pumpkin for tomorrow?” I asked.
“We have plenty of pumpkin for tomorrow.”
“Well,” I said, trying to help Milo. “Grandma says not to eat chocolate late at night.”
“True,” Mom said. “She swears it causes nightmares.”
“So apple or pumpkin?” Finn asked.
“Pumpkin,” the three of us answered in unison.
“Now we need to decide—” Mom started.
“Mom! We barely got through that decision.”
“Whipped topping or ice cream on top? Everybody gets his own choice.”
We rushed into the kitchen where Mom sliced the pumpkin pie.
She handed Finn and Milo ginormous pieces.
“I shouldn’t,” Finn said. “It’s late, and I… Never mind. I have incredible metabolism.” He grinned as he piled a giant scoop of whipped topping onto his slice.
“Whatever,” Milo said. “I have the metabolism of a sixteen-year-old.”
Mom frowned at her slice of pie. Then she shrugged and said, “For the rest of us, there’s cardio.”
She ate slowly and deliberately, savoring every tiny bite. Milo and Finn got seconds. I didn’t, but only because I knew Mom wanted seconds so badly.
Tomorrow, I was saving room for two desserts.
Milo’s phone beeped.
Then Finn’s beeped.
Finn looked at his phone first. “Oh dear. It’s Anya again.”
“Anya?” I asked. “Why would she be texting you?”
“I have no idea,” Finn said. “However, I am not keen to find out.”
“How did she get your number?” I asked.
“Probably the same way she got mine,” Milo said. “She’s been texting me since last night.”
My phone. That rat had been stealing phone numbers. She hadn’t been looking through my music at all. “She had my phone.”
“What did you say to her?” I asked Finn.
“Nothing. If I don’t reply, she’s likely to deduce that she has the wrong contact information.”
Milo groaned. “I’m so doomed. I didn’t think of ignoring her.”
“Stop now. Pretend you lost your charger.” I turned to Milo in panic. “You haven’t posted on Facebook or Twitter that you’re in town, have you?”
“No,” Milo said. “I can’t believe she would cyber stalk me.”
“She totally would,” I said.
Finn’s phone beeped again. “Wrong number,” he said and took another bite of his dessert.
The next day, the eating continued. For hours and hours. We ate breakfast. Then we nabbed pieces of this and that as we helped prepare the Thanksgiving meal. Finally the food fest of Thanksgiving dinner commenced.
Milo’s parents had finally relaxed enough around Finn to behave normally, which meant that the dinner conversation was lively. At least until the L-tryptophan from the turkey kicked in and everyone started to slow down as what energy we had was diverted to digestion.
“He’s like a ninety-five-year-old man in the body of a college guy,” Milo whispered. “It’s weird.”
I smacked at his leg. “He’ll hear you,” I whispered back. “What about the other thing?”
“I think you were imagining it,” Milo said.
He didn’t think there was any flirting going on with Mom and Finn. Thank goodness. I took a deep breath and then piled more broccoli casserole onto my fork. “Everything is delicious, Mom.”
“Sure is,” Milo’s dad said.
“Annie has outdone herself,” his mother added.
Finn raised his glass. “A toast,” he said, and we all lifted our glasses on cue. “To our hostess, whose charm and beauty delight our hearts while this feast sates our hunger.”
My discomfort rose as my mother’s cheeks turned pink.
I clinked Milo’s first as we shared a look. Milo had glimpsed what I had been seeing for days.
As soon as we had escaped up the stairs, Milo and I activated my mother’s profile on the dating site.
“Now we wait for somebody to notice.”
Milo shook his head. “I hope she doesn’t hate me for my part in this.”
“She won’t.”
“If you say so.”
I glanced at my phone. “We only have an hour before Dad is picking us up.”
Milo laid back on my bed and groaned. “We have to eat again.”
“I don’t think I can.”
“Me either.”
“Maybe we should go for a walk, and burn some of it off.”
Milo nodded. “It would help.”
“We should do that then,” I said as I laid down next to him.
“Definitely.”
Neither of us got up.
“Or,” I said. “We could rest.”
“Definitely,” Milo said.
Jake knocked on the door instead of my father. I guess Dad must have felt awkward about seeing Milo’s family and Dr. Finnegan when everybody knew he had left my mother.
Milo and I were ready and waiting near the door to avoid that uncomfortable situation.
“Hi,” I said and hugged Jake tight. “We’re all set.”
“Good,” Jake said. “I’m dying to eat some of what Mom’s cooking.”
Milo grabbed his stomach, and I shuddered at the thought of food.
“Right. You guys already ate.”
“Binged is more like it,” I admitted. “You want me to grab you something to eat in the car?”
Jakes eyes lit with interest. “Anything. Except carrots. Mom’s been letting me eat veggies and dip.”
I left Milo and Jake at the door and ran for the kitchen. Yanking open the fridge, I spotted the leftover pumpkin pie from yesterday. Two slices packaged just right for eating on the run.
I grabbed the tin and dashed back to them. They weren’t talking, and each had shoved his hands in his pockets.
“Got pie,” I said and led the way to the car.
“Hey, Zoe,” Dad said as I climbed in the passenger seat.
“Happy Thanksgiving!”
“You brought pie, Zoe?”
“A snack for Jake to eat on the way,” I told him.
Jake climbed in the back seat and slammed the door. “I’m starving, Mr. Miller. Please don’t mention it to Mom.”
Dad pushed his glasses up on his nose. “Sheree would be disappointed in us.”
“Us?” Jake asked.
“Hand each of us a piece,” Dad instructed. “All right, Jake. We’re in this together. Don’t cave.”
“You have my word,” Jake said as I handed him a slice.
Dad took a big bite of his as soon as I handed it over.
“Oh man,” Jake said. “This is amazing.”