Tyra
There had been a time when it wasn't entirely uncommon for Freddie to come home and find that his parents had company. But he had thought that that time had been long since left in the past.

The elder Lovejoys were a sociable couple, and it had often been said that they could strike up a conversation with statues and come away feeling some kind of accomplished. Freddie knew that the move to Briar Ridge had proven hard for them both, leaving behind the friends they had and the town they knew for pastures which had turned out to be less green than any of them had hoped for. His mama in particular had gone from a social butterfly who knew every snatch of gossip drifting around the place, to a homebody whose fingers never quite cooperated with the cold, who knew barely a soul and had little chance to step out and make connections anew.

Still, he was surprised when, as the sky began to fade from concrete to charcoal late one evening, he dismounted Angel in the yard and saw lamplight flickering from the kitchen window. As he tied her up in the cobbled-together stable out back, he could hear a new voice carried over through the still air, one he couldn't place as someone he knew. He couldn't make out the words, but he could hear enough to pick up on the warmth in his father's tone, and a lightness in his mama's laugh like he hadn't heard in months.
Whoever it was, without even meeting face to face, they had cemented themselves in Freddie's mind as a friend. Anyone who could make his mama smile after all she'd been through lately was someone he wanted to know, and to trust. 

Giving the pony one last pat on the neck and the final bite of the apple he'd been keeping in his pocket, he whispered a goodnight and closed the door behind himself as he headed for the front door. Mr Sinclair's ramp held true beneath his feet, with not so much as a creak to let the inhabitants of the house know he was there, not that they'd have heard him over their own talk and the crackling of the stove. 
Mama was usually long since done with cooking by now, Freddie's meal left in the pot to keep warm until the night brought him home, so he couldn't help but wonder what it was that had drawn the hour so late around them. Whoever their visitor was must have been a source of *Fascinating* Conversation - or perhaps, merely a distraction from Elizabeth's nightly routine. 

He pushed open the door, already toeing off his dusty boots and leaving them outside where he couldn't be scolded for leaving footprints on the floorboards. The voices were clearer now he was in here, and he called out a soft greeting as he entered the house fully and made his way to the back.

His father was sitting at the dining table, his nightly drink set in front of him, and his mama was standing at the stove. What made Freddie come to a stop before his usual rush to wrap his arms around her was the figure standing at her side. Tall (though everyone seemed tall when compared to his dear mama's tiny frame) and dark-haired, wearing an apron tied loose around their waist and leaning over whatever was bubbling over the heat, a wooden spoon in hand. 
"Evenin'." Freddie's voice betrayed his surprise only a little. "Am I interruptin' the party?" He cracked a smile, and moved over to poke his nose into the goings-on, never one to want to be left out of something, particularly when that something involved food. 

The stranger had a kind face. They were looking intently into the stew and Elizabeth was telling them something about spices as she sprinkled salt into the meal. 

Freddie stuck his hand out for them to shake, remembering for once the politeness that his parents had drilled into him from a young age. "Nice to meet ya. Freddie - Lovejoy. Though by the looks'a things you already knew that part, findin' yourself all acquainted with the family."

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Thomas
"Lovejoy" Seemed a fitting name for the couple that had become welcome regulars in their shop. The pair always had on smiles and even gave Emery a run for their money when it came to talking, happily chatting to them far past the time it took to package their cuts of meat. They'd become a comforting constant that Emery looked forward to seeing, happy to listen to whatever subject captured the conversation for the day. 

The one thing Elizabeth always told Emery was what she'd be cooking when she came by, everything she would add or *Wanted* To add if it weren't for it being out of season or the extra expense. It never failed to make their mouth water at even the simplest of dishes and finally after a few months they'd told her she could have the meat for free if she taught them how to cook. They'd kept their tone light, just unserious enough they could pass the comment off as a joke but any worries they had were quickly quelled by Elizabeths enthusiasm. Of *Course* She'd love to teach them to cook and when could they stop by?

That very evening, as soon as Emery closed up the shop, they were headed to the Lovejoys. Their house was everything Emery imagined it to be - welcoming and *Homey*, fires lit in nearly every room to fend off the cold and growing darkness, casting the whole house in a comforting light. They couldn't help but to marvel at the kitchen, openly laughing at Elizabeth's comments of it being understocked. Their own kitchen had barely more than the necessities, unsure of what to do besides *Cut* And *Heat*. Elizabeth was reassuring though, gentle with a kindness that felt so foreign to them as she helped tie an apron around their waist and instructed them what to start on first.

They'd felt so comfortable and enthralled both by the conversations and learning they hadn't noticed someone walking in the house until he stuck out his hand in greeting. *Freddie*. Emery smiled wide and wiped their free hand on the apron — though they were much more used to the bulky butchers apron and their, albeit mostly clean, hand clumsily wiped onto both it and the skirt they wore. 

"Freddie, sorry, hi," They took his offered hand in a shake, "Nice to meet you finally." They briefly turned their attention back to the pot to stir, being sure to scrape the bottom so nothing burned from the hot stove just as they'd been told. 

"Hope you don't mind your mama here tryin' to teach me a thing or two. You also like cookin'?" Elizabeth had told Emery several times now how much they'd *"Get on with Freddie."*, never elaborating much beyond that. They always failed to notice how the comment would come in moments when they'd come out from behind the counter, skirt swishing behind them, instead thinking it must be from Elizabeth's limited knowledge of their own interests. 

||
Tyra
"Mind? Hell, naw, I don't mind a bit." Freddie beamed. It was nice to see his parents, his mama in particular, still being able to make friends of their own in the face of all that had gone on in the last few months. He'd worried about them often, for it was difficult enough being uprooted from all you'd ever known at twenty-one, let alone imagining such a thing in later years, leaving behind a life you'd loved and friends you'd made and kept for decades. To see them settling brought forth a warmth to Freddie's heart that he hadn't realised was missing until he set eyes upon the stranger's smiling face, the reignited light in his mama's expression, and the relaxed curve of his father's shoulders as he sat at the table simply observing all that was unfolding before his eyes. "I ain't much of a cook, if I'm honest. Most I can do is taste-test an' do the dishes after. I sure love to eat, though, and this smells damn good." As a teenager, he'd been effectively barred from Elizabeth's kitchen after near ruining the bottom of one too many pots, and these days he made himself useful around the house in other ways when he wasn't entirely exhausted from the long days down the mines. Speaking of which...
"You gotta excuse the state of me. Coal's dirty stuff and ridin' back's not much cleaner."

"There's hot water in the basin, Fred. You really ought to've washed up afore even touching Emery," Elizabeth broke in to scold softly, shaking her head at her youngest before turning her attention back to their guest. *Emery*, Freddie thought, and committed the name to memory. "Sorry about my boy, dear. Anyone'd think he'd been raised by wol- by animals, the filth he comes home covered in."

"Ma!" Freddie whined, as he went to scrub at his hands with water and soap. "I ain't that bad, I swear. You make it sound as though I been rollin' in the stuff, and I ain't. Gets hot down there is all, an' the dust in the air sticks right to the sweat. You try loadin' carts all the day and comin' home clean as a whistle." He was laughing, though - it was a lighthearted argument they often shared in, and he'd heard her complaints a thousand times before. "Why ain't you pray for more'a those good evenin' rainstorms an' then I can be washed off by God's own hand? Clean'a the dust *And* My sins in one downpour." 

A pause came as he focused on getting the dirt out from under his nails and then dunking his whole head in the water to clean his face and hair. He came up all a-dripping as he always did, but his ma was there with a towel and a click of her teeth; of course, it wouldn't do to get so much as a splash of water on the floors. 
"Alright, alright!" He laughed, as she patted ineffectively at him with the cloth. "I got it jus' fine, Ma. You watch your pots while I get rid'a this-" He gestured to the water "-an' I go change my clothes and then I *Swear* I'll be right back." He shot Emery an apologetic smile. "It's always like this when I get home, promise. She misses me." 

He ducked away from Elizabeth, allowing her to return to the stove as he took the basin of water to dump out in the yard, and he only returned to the kitchen when he was dressed in clean clothes and a little more dried off. He couldn't resist coming back to poke his nose into the cooking, partly through curiosity about dinner and partly in his interest in learning more about the mysterious dinner guest. 
"So, tell me. How'd my ma come to find you? She ain't said nothin' about no new friends before an' I feel like I'm all outta the loop."

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