Old Magic Room

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As soon as we arrived at the Young's home, Joan began giving me a tour of the house. I was freaking out internally, thinking, This is where Adam freaking Young grew up, when finally, Joan said, "And our guest room is in the basement." My eyes widened as I tried to not let out a squeal, realizing that I would be sleeping in the place where all of Adam's magic began. She continued, "But, if you're not comfortable with sleeping all the way down there, let me know and you can just sleep on the couch or something," she then shot me a warm smile.

Now, normally, heck to the no, I would not be staying in the basement of a home I wasn't familiar with. But this- this was different. So much different. I looked to her with cheeks that were glowing in every single shade of blush known to mankind, and blurted out, "the basement is perfect," in a squeaky pitch. I sounded way more enthusiastic about a basement than one ought to have. Joan chuckled, and my cheeks burned even more pink than I thought was possible.

"Well then, I will go grab some essential toiletries for you, and then go start on some dinner," she joyfully exclaimed. In response, I simply smiled. But before she walked away, I stopped her. "Mrs. Young," I started. She turned to look at me. "I don't even know how I could begin to thank you for all that you are doing for me, a stranger who you just met today." Joan gave me a look of sympathy, and simply said with a smile, "It's what Jesus would do." I nodded in agreement. Before she walked away to get the things for me, she turned, and with sparkling eyes she said, "Besides, I like you," she giggled. "And please, just call me Joan."

Later, after I had been introduced to Randy, Joan's husband and Adam's father, and after we all had a wonderful dinner together and I washed the dishes as I had volunteered myself to do, Joan walked me down the basement stairs with an extra pillow to add to my bed, and a light blanket.

"Oh, dear," Joan exclaimed. "You don't have anything comfortable to sleep in." I looked down and observed my mustard yellow and white striped ruffly top, and my rolled up denim capris. She was right. They were the same clothes I had been in for the last two days, and I even went through lake water in them. "Oh, I'll be perfectly fine in these," I half fibbed. "No, no, I'll call my sons girlfriend and see if she and her best friend have something they could lend you for the night, until I take you shopping tomorrow!"

Before I could process all that Joan had just said, she was already half way up the stairs to grab her phone. "W-wait-" It was too late.

I was too exhausted from today to follow up the stairs and listen in on Joan and Abbeys phone conversation, so I sat on my bed and waited patiently.

Joan returned to the basement letting me know that Abbey and Katie would be over shortly.

"Oh, thanks so much to all of you, but I swear I could've just waited 'til tomorrow," I insisted. "Yes, you could have," Joan stated. Then she added, "But what's the point of making you wait when it's not necessary?"

Knock, knock, knock!

Randy was already in bed, so Joan got up to get the door. I followed up the stairs at a much slower pace since butterflies were having a party in my stomach. "I'm going to meet the one and only Abilene Olmsted... as in Adam Young's sweetheart, and Katie, who I have always dreamed of being friends with. Crap, I'm nervous!"

I peeked around the corner as Joan opened the frontdoor, and those Gilmore's stood at the entrance with the most genuine smiles I have ever seen. Abbey and Katie greeted Joan with a hug and a kiss on the cheek, and Joan returned that to both of them.

I walked over to introduce myself, and I was immediately bundled up in a huge group hug! "You must be Olivia," Abbey squealed! Katie held the bag that was carrying the sleepwear they were lending to me that night. Joan gave the introductions, and I felt such an odd connection with both Abbey and Katie right away.... Maybe it was just the way they welcomed me... I smiled, then the two girls led me down to my room.

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