Chapter 8

Sarah, Desiree, and Mrs. Morgan sat around the kitchen table drinking coffee while the other two 'washed' the breakfast dishes, if you could really call it that. They had to be getting just as much water on themselves as they were on the dishes.

Emily handed Morgan a dish to dry, which he immediately 'accidentally' dropped on the floor, forcing her to wash it over again.

"If they were in grade school, he'd be pulling her hair and pushing her down right about now," Sarah joked.

"He's never going to tell her," Desiree said, shaking her head.

"I bet he will," Sarah retorted.

"I'll take that bet," Desiree replied.

"You're not going to bet on your brother's love life," Mrs. Morgan scolded, "We're just going to have to help him along a little..."

"Mom, you know if he heard you saying that he'd A) die of embarrassment and B) insist that he needs no help..."

"And when has that ever stopped you from meddling before?" she challenged, one eyebrow raised.

"You're right... This is gonna be fun." Both of the younger women smiled smugly; a blank check for mayhem.

******

Morgan glanced at the clock, they had been gone nearly four hours; not that he was complaining, having Emily all to himself. It just would have been better if she weren't currently beating him six ways from Sunday at Scrabble. "Why are we even playing this?" he complained as she played all seven of her tiles to spell 'tongues' and earning herself a good seventy points.

"You mean you don't enjoy losing?" she teased.

He gave her a playful glare, but decided not to dignify that jibe with a response, instead changing the subject, "I'm starving."

For several seconds, she tried to think of another clever joke at his expense, but eventually relented, agreeing, "Me too."

"I'm guessing they aren't going to be home in time for dinner," he said, "Did you just want to order something?"

She waved her hand dismissively and said, "Let's try cooking for ourselves." He looked at her incredulously for a minute before she added, "Take your turn."

He glanced once at his letters, consisting almost solely of vowels and an 'x'; he shook his head, he had already lost. Returning to the original topic of conversation, he reminded, "Emily, come on, let's face the facts. Neither one of us is a very good cook independent of strict instruction from a cooking professional or military precise directions on the side of a box..."

"Nonsense," she said airily, "We can figure it out. We've both cooked before, we know how to read a cookbook, how hard can it be?"

"Did you forget the cake flambe incident?" he scoffed, "One parental-assisted cooking attempt does not a master chef make."

"Fine," she shrugged, "If you want to go running to mommy every time you want a home-cooked meal..."

"No!" he quickly interrupted, "I'm just saying that... It's not that I... I just think..." She smiled as he struggled to string three words together in an intelligent manner. "Fine," he relented, "But you'll be the one who has to explain to my mother when she returns home to find her kitchen on fire, despite the fact that I am under very clear orders never to use her kitchen again without supervision..."

******

"What's burning?" Emily asked suddenly, looking up sharply from where she was chopping vegetables for salad.

"What?"

"Something's burning," she repeated, "Can't you smell it?"

"But I haven't put anything on the stove yet."

"You turned the burner on to boil the water," she reminded.

He turned to look at the stove and started panicking. "Oh crap..."

"What did you do?"

"Nothing," he said dismissively. It was a lie and she knew it, seeing as he had pulled on a pair of ovenmitts and was warily attempting to pick up one of the metal burner covers. "Could you please open the door for me?" he asked, holding the burner cover as far away from himself as possible.

She did as he asked and watched as he set the metal plate down on the patio table, looking as if it might explode at any second. Once he was back inside, she looked at him with a raised eyebrow. "What did you do?"

"Nothing," he repeated, "Certainly not turn on the wrong burner and melt the metal burner cover to the element..."

She tried not to burst out laughing, looking from him to the stove. "Your mom is going to kill you..."

"Not if I tell her you did it..."

She looked at him with wide eyes, "You wouldn't dare..."

"Oh, wouldn't I?"

She glared at him. "You can't."

"Maybe if you convinced me..." He raised an eyebrow suggestively.

She gave him a 'yeah, right...' looked and punched him in the arm. "Or I could just ask your sisters to tell me what the big secret is..."

She smiled triumphantly as he froze. "Now you're blackmailing me with this? And you don't even know what it is..."

She smiled and laughed, "Have fun explaining this to your mom."

He couldn't help but shake his head and smile; this was what he loved about her... at least part of it.