Page 42 of Lessons in Lemonade

It was like this when Shelby lived here, too, but with Jack . . . I don’t know. It somehow feels more right, and I would be lying if I said that didn’t scare me a little.

“Okay, I’m ready for you now,” I call out to Jack, who is on the couch watching SportsCenter.

Slowly he gets up, makes his way to the kitchen island, and sits at the end. I ladle up the first bowl of soup and place it in front of him. His hair is messy, his face is scruffy, and in his lounge clothes he looks like a favorite blanket I want to curl up in.

“Did you know before modern medicine, soup was essential to healing for a lot of different cultures?” I ask him.

“I’ve never given much thought to it, but yeah, I would guess so. There has to be something behind the whole chicken soup thing.” He slides the bowl closer and takes the first spoonful. His eyebrows shoot up as he tastes it, and I’d be lying if I said his reactions didn’t please me immensely.

“There is. Chicken contains a compound called carnosine. It slows or blocks movement of white blood cells, which lowers inflammation in the respiratory tract from the common cold.”

His eyes find mine as he keeps eating the soup, listening and not responding.

“Others believed meat from a strong animal could help a weak man and protein-rich soups would help milk production after giving birth to a baby, and in China they made soup with snakes because it was supposed to help with joint pain.”

The spoon pauses midair as his face turns horrified. “You didn’t put snake in here, did you?”

A laugh bursts out of me. “No, silly, but try this one now.”

I move over to the stove and fill the next bowl with the second soup.

“Are you going to tell me what it is that I’m tasting?” he asks, picking up the first bowl and drinking from it to finish it off.

“Nope, not until you’ve tasted them both. Knowing the ingredients may sway your decision based on what you think you like better versus what actually tastes better.”

“If you say so.” He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand then takes the second bowl, lowers his head, and sniffs it. “Smells delicious.”

“It should taste delicious, too.” I grin, untying the little apron around my waist. I toss it on the counter next to the sink and watch as he swirls his spoon then tastes the second soup.

Unbeknownst to Jack, he actually showed up in Charleston at the perfect time. I have been tossing around different ideas to serve at the brunch for the festival, and he’s been the perfect guinea pig to try everything I’ve made. He never complains, seems to love everything I make, and is always ready and willing.

“So, what do you think?” I ask him.

“The first one.” He leans back in his chair and licks his lips.

“Why?” I have to force my eyes up to his face.

“It’s lighter, coming after the grapefruit I think it pairs better, and well, it made me feel good. Don’t get me wrong, this one is fantastic, too, but that one”—he points to the bowl—“can I have more?”

And that right there is always the answer. If you can keep them coming back for more, you have a winner.

Feeling satisfied with his choice, I refill his bowl and make one for myself.

“It’s asparagus and pea soup with homemade parmesan crackers.”

“What was the other one?” he asks as I sit down next to him.

“Artichoke soup with fennel seed yogurt. The asparagus is easier to make, so I’m slightly relieved.” I take a sip and sort through the layers of flavor. This soup actually takes me back to my grandmother’s table. It’s created a connection to my childhood, and I can only hope it will for the guests too.

My grandmother was something else. She grew it all and then preserved it. It was how she was raised, and in return it’s how I was. I spent so many hours in the sun picking things, and it’s probably why I love my own garden so much.

“The parmesan crackers are a nice touch,” he mumbles, glancing at me out of the corner of his eye.

I can’t help the smile that takes over as we both eat without speaking.

“Do you want anything else?” I ask once I’m done.

Getting up, I move to grab some reusable containers to put the soups in the refrigerator. Another thing I’ve learned about Jack is he loves leftovers, eats them cold right out of the container.