Kate takes her time getting ready, listening to the giggles and crashing from down the corridor. In the last five minutes she's heard Alexis turn down every clothing option her father has offered. She has to hand it to Alexis, she knows her style. She is completely within her rights to avoid bright green and pink together.

Of course, Kate's till wondering whether it's within her rights to kill the man for stashing her in his parent's house without telling her.

There's no mirror in the room where she can do her makeup and she's still too mortified to venture out and risk bathroom crowding so she just brushes her hair and rubs the sleep away from her face followed by a little moisturiser.

She feels supremely unprepared to leave the room – has had less stage fright before some of the biggest shows of her life. She doesn't meet anyone in the hall but she rounds the wall and finds the kitchen is already occupied.

Richard's mother, Johanna Beckett.

"Good Morning," she announces cautiously, stopping a safe distance away. The woman doesn't pause pouring water into the coffee machine, nor does she seem at all as tense as Kate feels right now.

"Good Morning." It's genuine and though the smile is a little embarrassed it's warm; there's a slight dimple and Kate can't take her eyes off it. The flesh around it moves and Kate realises too late to catch the first half of the sentence.

"I'm sorry?" she asks, blushing harder. She feels like a teenager again.

"Is pancakes alright with you?" Johanna asks again, kind enough to ignore the awkward moment.

"Yes," Kate blurts and the woman smiles. "Alexis thinks very highly of them."

Johanna actually laughs. "Alexis eats almost anything. I wish Rick was that easy when he was a boy."

"You mean he was as much trouble back then?" Kate asks before she can stop herself. She flinches internally as the words slip past – it's one thing to trash talk the guy in her head, but to his mother? Where has her control gone? It has to be his fault – going from ass to father like a fish on hook.

His mother's head falls back and her laughter reverberates around the room, releasing Kate from her state of nervous anticipation. It makes Kate smile breathlessly too, drawn in somehow by this woman.

"You have no idea," Johanna says, her voice a little throaty. "I remember when he was seven, he went for a week and the only thing he ate was Lucky Charms. We told him it would make him sick and we weren't going to buy them, but he used his pocket money."

She couldn't see him doing that. "And did he get sick?" As she asks a particularly loud squeal echoes out of the far bedroom followed by a barking laugh and she can actually picture him doing it after all.

"Very," she shook her head nostalgically, still smiling.

"What made him stop?"

"He ran out of pocket money," Johanna grins, turning away and beginning to fish ingredients out of her cupboards. Already a checked apron is around her waist, worn and it looks right on her – like they're old friends. Nothing like her mother when she was in the kitchen. Hurricane Martha. She wore an apron well but that was almost the limit of her culinary expertise.

Something about Johanna Beckett is earthy though; the warm laughter, warm eyes and dark tawny hair – almost the same shade as Kate's. Her movements flow with an understated grace, just like the crisp white shirt and jeans. There's an air of competence around her that's as enchanting as it is intimidating.

"Can I help?"

Johanna straightens up with a large mixing bowl cradled between her hands. "Oh no, it's okay, honey. You just stay there."

"Please," Kate steps into the kitchen, feeling as though she's just crossed a line somewhere and is holding her passport hoping for an entry visa. She didn't realise until she was in the space how very clearly this was Johanna's territory. "I like to cook," Kate adds, once again caught off guard by the desire to be approved of by this woman. She's just so very real, and that's the part Kate can't help respond to – to show she's real too.

Johanna turns away but before there's any rejection to it, she's turning back with a battered wooden spoon in hand. "You think you can do the berry coulis?"

Kate just nods, taking the spoon.

"There's a smaller bowl in the cupboard on the left."

Kate starts forward and Johanna laughs. "Sorry, I meant my left."

It makes Kate smile.

"Guess I'm not used to cooking with someone else," Johanna muses.

Kate fishes out a bowl and uses the bench space by the stools as her base camp. "I know what you mean," Kate offers, thinking of the way Martha would just watch and keep her company from the other side of the bar or just sweep in when everything was done and sing along to the radio as they plated up and again later as she did the dishes.

She hadn't been singing so much these days – not that she would know; when her mother needed her, she was on the other side of the country.

"Is everything alright?" Johanna's voice breaks in.

Kate clears her throat and nods. "Just wondering where your spices are."

It's fairly clear Johanna doesn't buy her excuse but answers anyway. "In the pantry, on your right."

"Great. I think some cinnamon and nutmeg is just what this is going to need."


Her hands shook. Literally shook. She almost dropped the bowl when the woman walked in and addressed herself. Johanna's not sure why she even cares at this point – there could be no way to turn things around after their introduction. The only reason Johanna made it out of the bedroom at all is the feeling that their guest was as mortified as they were. Her mother was brutal about drilling etiquette into her as a child; a proper hostess grins and bears it, no matter how uncomfortable the situation.

Somehow being walked in on by your favourite celebrity wasn't covered.

Covered. God. At least Katherine Rodgers, oh god Katherine Rodgers, was fully dressed. In a beautifully silky pyjama set, lacy but classy and understated. Even stars had to sleep in something.

Namely a bed in your house. Breathe.

"What time did you all get it last night?" she asks, pushing it all down and turning the oven on low to keep the pancakes warm.

"We got here this morning actually," Katherine offers. Johanna watches the actress frown a little in concentration as she taps out spices. She seems to be doing on instinct because she hasn't used any measuring device yet. "Our flight got in a little after 12, so we probably got here after half past one - we got pretty lucky with the traffic," she looks up abruptly. "I'm sorry, he never said it was your house. I just thought he had a friend…"

Johanna waves it off. "Richard can be surprisingly forgetful sometimes. Though lack of sleep might have had something to do with it in this instance."

"I wouldn't be too sure about that," Katherine mutters, stirring the mixture. Before Johanna can ask what that meant the actress looks up again. "Is something burning?"

"Burning?" she blinks. "Oh, crap!"

The pancake in the pan is full of bubbles, fluffy and cooked through enough to let air out. Johanna has the fish slice under it and airborne a second later, waiting anxiously for it to land again so she can study the extent of the damage. She feels the actress drift closer, curious and is happy to see the damage is minimal, the golden brown a more chocolate colour.

"Good save," Katherine congratulates her.

Johanna bristles a little at that, an involuntary reaction to criticism and looks up, annoyed. Once her gaze focuses on the actress though, it dissipates. There's a tense line to her shoulders that Johanna only recognises from dealing with people in awkward and stressful situations. Katherine hides it well, but Johanna can see the effort it is taking her to stand here and participate. Her comment wasn't designed to criticise or even to encourage a compliment of her own for catching the warning signs; it was just a well meant comment.

It was refreshing.

"Thanks."