What is love?

Chapter 24

After walking for 15 minutes from the bus stop, we finally stopped at a neat and quaint cottage painted in shades of white. As we walked on the beige pathway leading up to the front door, I admired the neatly trimmed hedges, assortment of plants and bushes, freshly mowed lawn and the dew filled grass. March broke the silence by suddenly pressing the doorbell. Just minutes after the bell had rung, a short and plump woman with ginger hair opened the front door and flung her hands over March.

"MOM!" March whined.

The woman giggled and let go of her son. "How's the farmer's market, dear? I bet it smells really fishy. Too fishy for you perhaps? I mean it doesn't bother me since I went often. But considering you and your lazy habits-"

"Ok, mom. I'll have to cut you off right there. Don't embarrass me in front of my friend." March hissed the last sentence through gritted teeth. 

Mrs. Cromwell only gave a light chuckle before turning to me. "Ah, and you must be Scarlette, is that right?"

"Yes, ma'am." I bowed in respect.

"No need to be so formal young lady. Say, did you go to the farmer's market often? To help out your mom perhaps?"

"Of course. Every summer holiday's Sunday. Mom has a lot of things to do and besides, I have nothing much to do at home."

Mrs. Cromwell slapped me on the arm, clearly surprised and content. "Now that's the type of girl I want to have in my household. March's single by the way." She winked.

"Mom! She's just a friend to me. So don't get any ideas!" March's face began to redden.

"So is your dad and I when we're your age. Now come! Surely don't want our guest standing here all day, do we? Come in, come in."

As soon as I entered the house, I was greeted with an array of wooden floorboard, all of them are polished so well I can see my reflection! The wall's filled with frames containing family pictures over the years. I also spotted a picture of a woman probably in her 20s, ginger haired, long and tousled. She's carried by an unfamiliar man - bridal style  - and she looks so happy. A gleaming star on one of her fingers told me exactly what happened. She just got engaged. I wasn't sure if this woman is Mrs. Cromwell or her daughter, March's one and only sister, Marge. March seemed to have read my mind because he suddenly appeared by my side and pointed at the picture.

"That's Marge, my sis. She just got engaged last year. It's a pleasure to see my sis' wedding. I've never seen her so happy before."

"Well, she's a pretty woman if I do say so myself."

"Yeah, she is. So, are we going to cook lunch now?"

"Wait a second, you both are cooking lunch?" Mrs. Cromwell who happened to overhears the conversation waddled over.

"Y-yeah, we are." I smiled.

Mrs. Cromwell tut-tut in  disapproval and snatch the wicker basket from my hand. "Our guest cooking? It's a weird thing for us hosts to agree with it. Since well, we're the host. We'll serve you while you kick back and relax with March here. Have fun, we'll do the rest. There's no need to do such things, dear, dear."

"I insist Mrs. Cromwell. It's the least I can do for your hospitality. It's also an attempt to bond with your son, see?" I grabbed March by the arm.

"Y-yeah, bonding time. Real fun. Let us do it mom. Please?" March began to do the puppy eyes.

"Alright, alright fine. But don't overwork yourself or I'll force the spatula out of your hands! You better be quick with the meal though, March's dad, Marge and Ivan are going to come soon." Mrs. Cromwell handed me the basket again.