Trouble's Brewing (Stirring Up Trouble Trilogy 2)

My dad’s piece disappeared in seconds. He wiped his hands and put the car in drive.

“Wow,” Milo said. “We’

re so stuffed we hurt, and you guys are on empty.”

“You can eat some dinner, right?” Dad asked. “Enough to avoid insulting Sheree.”

“Yes,” I answered. “We know we have to eat some.”

“I can almost breathe normally,” Milo said. “I think I’m going to make it.”

Dad laughed at us. “We’ll try to leave Indiana inside, just in case.”

“Don’t give him any turkey though,” Jake said. “I learned that lesson the hard way.”

“No turkey,” Milo said. “Got it.”

“Sheree knows we’ve eaten, right? She doesn’t expect us to be ravenous.” I glanced at my father.

“She knows, but there was an incident earlier with the mashed potatoes, and I think she may not have full confidence in her cooking. It would be best if you two can clean your plates.”

I groaned.

“I’ll sit next to you and sneak food from your plate,” Jake said.

“Really?” Thank goodness.

“Just don’t let Sheree see you,” Dad said. “I don’t think she’d be impressed with your manners.”

“If you get Jake, then I get the dog,” Milo said.

“Just be discreet,” Dad cautioned. “How did your first meal go? Did D—Finn enjoy himself?”

“Sure,” I said.

“Too bad his girlfriend was out of town,” Jake muttered.

“Girlfriend,” Milo said with a laugh. “That would be interesting.”

“Yes, Milo. Meeting his girlfriend would be interesting,” I said. “Too bad she went out of town.”

Milo squirmed in the seat of the car. “Right. Interesting because she’s probably really hot.”

I glared. He was not making this better.

He gave me a don’t-forget-to-fill-me-in-next-time glower.

When we filed through the front door of Sheree’s house, the scent of cinnamon and nutmeg hit us hard. My first thought was more pumpkin pie. My second thought was, yum, more pumpkin pie. I was seriously starting to believe I might be able to eat again.

Sheree greeted Milo warmly. “So good to see you again.”

“Thank you for having me,” he said.

“Any friend of Zoe’s is a friend of mine,” she said. Then she rushed over to remove a casserole dish from the oven. “Now I know you’ve already eaten one meal,” she said, setting the dish on the counter. “I don’t expect you to eat much, so don’t feel pressured.”

Milo and I shared a hopeful look until Dad cleared his throat. We glanced his way to see him shake his head in a clear “no” signal. We weren’t off the hook after all. Jake snorted, and I raised my fist half-heartedly in the air as I mouthed, “Yay.”

“I don’t suppose you two kids will need to eat until at least Sunday,” Sheree joked, turning back from the stove.

“I feel that way every year,” my father said, walking over to kiss Sheree on her forehead. “And yet, I find myself raiding the leftovers by the next morning.”

Watching Dad and Sheree made my stomach cramp. I couldn’t count how many times I’d seen him kiss my mother that way. How long had he been dating Sheree? Was he truly already jumping into another family? Wasn’t it too soon?

Milo caught my eye, and I knew that he understood what I was thinking. He’d been around my parents enough to know that they had acted just like this. Until they quit being married. Until Dad left.

Jake had moved over to the casserole dish on the counter. He snagged a fork from the drawer and raised the lid. He stabbed something with the fork and whistled what I guessed he thought was casually as he scurried away from his mother.

“I saw that,” she said.

Jake grinned and popped his ill-gotten gains into his mouth.

“It’s hot, Jake,” Sheree warned.

Jake bounced on the balls of his feet, his eyes wide, and his mouth slightly open as he chewed and swallowed. “Delicious,” he said.

I couldn’t help staring.

With a self-deprecating smile, Jake took my hand in his. “I’m starving to death, remember?”

Sheree pulled a tray of rolls from the oven and handed them to Dad. Then she returned to stirring whatever was in the pot on the stove. Once Sheree turned her back, my dad held up a roll and in some sort of silent guy-bonding thing, tossed one to Jake.

Jake released my hand to catch the steaming roll. Then passed it from one hand to the other.

Abandoned for carbohydrates. I watched Jake back around the corner out of his mother’s line of sight and devour the bread.

“Is it almost ready?” I asked Sheree, hoping we could eat soon so Jake would show an interest in something other than food. Like spending time with me.

“I suppose we’d better eat before Jake gnaws off his own arm,” Sheree said. She handed my father two potholders. “If you’ll take the turkey out and set it on the platter, the kids can go sit down.”

“Can I help carry anything?” I asked.

“Good idea,” Jake whispered. “We should help. I’ll carry the rolls in.”

“Stop,” Sheree said. “Milo can carry the rolls. Zoe, could you take that casserole dish? Jake, you can carry the gravy.”

Jake groaned, and I found myself hoping he wouldn’t try drinking the gravy straight from the china gravy boat.

Milo leaned close to us, and said, “Man, if you promise not to drink the gravy, I’ll slip you another roll.”

The whole thing had gotten so ridiculous that I gave in to giggles, then to full blown laughter, and soon I laughed so hard I had to gasp for air.

My father grinned at me. “Maybe next year we’ll let him eat earlier.”

“Maybe next year, he’ll have better manners than to outbeg Indiana,” Sheree lamented.

“Where is Indiana?” Milo asked casually, and through my continuing bouts of giggles, I realized he was proceeding with our plan.

We needed the dog.

“He’s out back,” Dad said.

“I’ll get him,” I offered.

“Oh no.” Sheree shook her head. “We can’t let him in. He’ll make off with the turkey.”

“Not with Jake around,” Dad teased.

“Regardless, he stays out,” she said.

Chapter Twelve

Jake patted me and Milo on the back. “Don’t worry,” he said. “I got this.”

“I think I’m good to go actually,” Milo said, patting his stomach.

“Seriously?” I asked in disbelief.

Jake and Milo fist-bumped as I pondered the strange creatures that were teenage boys. They were like piranhas. No wonder Milo’s choice for a combined spell had been related to making more food.

As I sat at the table, I wished his charm had involved making food shrink instead. Somehow my pleas for a tiny bit of this and that had been ignored, and Dad passed my plate back to me loaded with so much food I could barely hold it in one hand.

“This is a lot of food,” Dad said. “I think we could easily feed ten more people.”

“Too bad my mother went to my sister’s this year,” Sheree said. “Although to be fair, she eats like a bird.”

“You’re on your own with the green beans,” Jake said into my ear. “I’m not wasting room on green vegetables.”

Dad caught me rolling my eyes.

“No whispering at the table,” Sheree chided.

The squash casserole tasted heavenly, and I wished I had room for more. I plodded through the green beans, let Jake snatch my roll when he finished his, and ate tiny bites of turkey with the right amount of gravy. Jake, of course, sent his plate back around for seconds, followed shortly by Milo. I wasn’t convinced Milo had that much room in his stomach. I suspected some testosterone-induced machismo was involved. My father had thirds.

Once Jake and my father had put enough in their stomachs to be able to once again feign politeness, the sound of conversation replaced the crunching and smacking of chewing.

“After dessert, we can power through the dishes and focus on the

other Thanksgiving tradition,” Dad said.

“Football,” Milo and Jake said in unison.

“Dibs on the recliner,” Sheree said. “I’m exhausted after all that cooking.”

On cue, each of us jumped in with thank you’s and compliments about the dinner.

Jake held my hand under the table, eating a bite every now and then with the fork in his left hand. Milo noticed, and he winked at me.

“When do I need to take you guys back to your mother’s, Zoe?”

“I don’t know for sure. We can hang out for a while. Unless Milo needs to get back.”

“Nope. I’m on vacation. My parents will have to take care of themselves.”

We all laughed.

“Oh, John,” Sheree said. “When you drop them off, don’t forget to give Zoe the limestone you’ve been carrying around in your trunk. You know, the limestone she wanted for… What did she want if for again? Something for her mother’s garden?”

The limestone. I’d done a pretty good job of concentrating on the holidays and spending time with Milo. Until now. The reminder that the limestone was within my reach and yet off-limits was enough to make me want to jump out of my skin.

Dad knew it too. So did Milo. They shared a look and a sigh.

I wished Sheree hadn’t mentioned it. Now I’d never get the unicorn horn substitution out of my mind.

“Frankly, I’m afraid he’s going to get pulled over with that stuff in the car. With his luck, they’ll think it’s an illegal substance, all that white powder.”

By referring to the limestone as drugs, Sheree had brought back the memory of Finn’s concern about my obsession. I sat quietly, gripping Jake’s hand, and trying to take slow, deep breaths. I could handle this. I could relax and enjoy day after day with Milo and avoid all thoughts of my potion experiments.

“Zoe,” Jake said, leaning in to speak softly in my ear. “You’re squeezing pretty hard.”

“Huh?” Oh! My grip had tightened on Jake’s hand as I struggled to block out thoughts of the unicorn horn. “Sorry.” I snatched my hand away, but Jake caught it and held it.

I tried to relax and hold his hand like a normal girlfriend instead of a freak. Finn was right, I told myself. I was obsessed.