Free A Reason to Stay by Kellie Coates Gilbert Page B

“Where’s the plates?”
    He grinned. “No plates. Just scoop some from the pile in front of you and eat right off the paper.”
    She slowly nodded. “Oh—okay.”
    Geary scooped a crawfish from the pile. The little freshwater crustacean resembled a miniature lobster. “Here, like this.”
    She watched, aware people all around were taking in the scene. As a crawfish newbie, no doubt she was the source of afternoon entertainment.
    Geary’s sister stood and leaned over the table. She picked through the mound of food and took one of the larger crawfish off the pile. “If you find one and the tail isn’t curled, toss it. That means the crawfish was dead when cooked, and you won’t want to eat that one.”
    Faith nodded weakly and thanked her for the warning, then turned her full attention back to Geary.
    â€œGrab between the thorax and the head, pinch and twist. Peelthe first layer of the shell back. See?” He proudly showed off a piece of white meat sticking out from the shell.
    Wendell tucked a paper towel in his shirt like a bib. “Ignore that yellow stuff inside. Just stick the thing in your mouth and go for it.”
    Faith felt her stomach go queasy. Wanting to make a good impression, she took the offered crawfish from Geary. She swallowed her nerves—and her reservations—and tentatively pinched and twisted as she was shown. Then she drew the tiny shelled piece to her mouth.
    â€œNow squeeze the tail and suck,” Geary told her.
    She followed his instruction and the dab of meat launched into her mouth. She closed her eyes and chewed.
    The flavor was unfamiliar at best, and a little bit sweet. She couldn’t say she disliked the delicacy. She might even learn to love—well, like—the fare that was so embraced in the southern states. And by the people around this table.
    She remembered her father, rest his soul, and how he’d been robbed of this eating adventure.
    Here’s to you, Dad , she thought, and reached for another crawfish.

    Faith ate crawfish, red potatoes, corn, and sausage—all spiced with Cajun seasoning—until she thought her stomach would pop. So when Veta Marin set an enormous bowl of peach cobbler with a scoop of Blue Bell vanilla bean ice cream mounded on top in front of her, she tried to decline.
    â€œNo peach cobbler? Oh, c’mon.” His mom held out a spoon, her eyes hopeful.
    Faith let out an overstuffed sigh, knowing there was little way to politely decline. She smiled and took the spoon his mother held out.
    As soon as she’d taken a big bite, Geary’s mother wiped her hands together and stepped away in satisfaction. Geary leanedover and placed his hand on Faith’s arm. “Don’t feel bad. She gets all of us like that.”
    Across the table, Wendell grinned and nodded in agreement. “No one can say no to my wife, especially when she’s armed with her famous peach cobbler.”
    When the crowd at the tables dissipated and Faith noticed her hosts were beginning to clean up, she rose from the table and offered to help. Veta waved her off. “No ma’am, you’re our guest.” She grabbed her son’s arm. “But you, son, are not.”
    Geary’s head bent back and he laughed. “Sure thing, Mom.” He turned to Faith. “I’ll only be a minute.”
    Across the lawn, Gabby chased Gunner with the hose. “I’m telling,” the little boy hollered at his laughing tormenter.
    â€œSo, you’re Geary’s new friend.”
    Faith turned, sizing up the woman before her. “Yes—uh, I suppose,” she responded carefully. The size 4 wore tight jeans and a carelessly low-cut peasant blouse, her shoulder-length hair dark. The color of coffee, without cream and sugar—dark and intense.
    The same could be said for the gal’s expression. She arched her finely tweezed brows. “Are you enjoying the