Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 92417 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 462(@200wpm)___ 370(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92417 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 462(@200wpm)___ 370(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
“Yes. I went to the library and asked Noreen, the librarian, if she had any recommendations for cookbooks, but she pointed me in the direction of some YouTube tutorials and websites instead. She said Pioneer Woman is her favorite, so I started there.” She shrugged, palms up. “I think I did okay! I found a meat thermometer in one of your drawers, and that helped me know when the chicken was done. I’d never used one of those before.”
I laughed. “It’s good to have tools. Do I have time for a quick shower?”
“Yes,” she said. “I still have to slice the chicken off the bone and finish putting the salads together.”
“Perfect.”
“I have to confess, I didn’t make the sauce from scratch—it’s just from a jar,” she said, her expression guilty. “Same with the apricot preserves I added to it. But,” she went on, brightening up, “Noreen told me that the Cherry Tree Harbor farmers’ market is on Tuesdays, so tomorrow I’m going to go check it out, and maybe get some local ingredients to make something fully from scratch. She said everything tastes better when it’s direct from farm to table.”
“I’m sure whatever you made tonight will taste as good as it smells. I appreciate you making dinner—you didn’t have to.”
Pink roses bloomed in her cheeks. “I wanted to.”
I dropped another kiss near her temple. “I’ll be right down.”
Taking the steps two at a time, I started stripping my clothes off before I even reached my room.
“It’s official,” I told her, setting my fork down. “This is the best meal you’ve made yet. Ten out of ten. Highly recommend.”
“Thank you,” she said, bowing her head. “I appreciate that.”
“I’ll do the dishes.”
“I don’t mind doing them. With the kids gone, I don’t have much else to do, and you’re still paying me.” She took a sip of her wine. “Don’t you want to work tonight?”
The only thing I wanted to do tonight was get inside her again. It was my new favorite place. “I don’t really have anything I’m working on right now. I have to find the wood for Xander’s bar. That’s my next project.”
“Oh right—the bet.”
“He texted me like fifty times today asking when it’s going to be ready.” I picked up my beer and took a long swallow. “Pain in the ass.”
“I don’t blame him for wanting you to make it.” She brushed the tabletop with her fingertips. “Your work is so beautiful.”
“Thanks.”
“That was cool about Quentin and Pierre wanting to sell your tables at their gallery,” she said. “Think you’ll take them up on the offer?”
“I doubt it.”
“Why not?”
“If orders started coming in, I’d have to devote serious time to keeping up with them, and I just don’t have it.”
She propped her elbows on the table and rested her chin in one hand. “In all these years, you’ve never thought of leaving Two Buckleys? Of doing your own thing?”
“Actually, I have.”
“Tell me.”
“When I was twenty-five, and Mabel was sixteen and pretty self-sufficient, I wanted to move out to California. A friend of mine from high school had opened up a surf shop in Santa Cruz and had this idea about making custom paddle boards. He invited me to go into business with him, so I went out for a visit. That’s where I met Sansa.”
“Ah. I feel like I know how this ends.”
“Exactly.” I finished off my beer and set the empty bottle down. “Back at home, I spent a few weeks working up the nerve to tell my dad that I wanted to quit Two Buckleys and move across the country, but before I could do it—literally the very day I’d planned to have the talk with him—I got the phone call that changed everything.”
“Wow, the timing. Were you devastated?”
I shrugged. “I just figured it wasn’t meant to be. And I wouldn’t trade my kids for anything.”
“I know you wouldn’t. But you’re also really talented at something you love to do. It doesn’t seem fair that you can’t do it.”
“I can do it,” I argued.
“I meant make a living with it.”
I frowned. “Look, I’ve had this argument with Xander and Mabel a thousand times. I won’t quit on my dad.”
“So you’ve never told him you’d like to start your own business?”
“There’s no point.”
“Don’t you think he’d want you to do what you love?”
“It doesn’t matter what I love,” I said, anger working its way up my spine. “Last year, he had a heart attack and fell off a ladder. Fractured his arm and some ribs. If I hadn’t been there, he wouldn’t have been found for hours.”
“Oh no!” Veronica gasped, her elbows coming off the table. “Owen mentioned something about a heart attack. Poor George!”
“He’s okay,” I said. “But I don’t trust him not to climb ladders or lift things he shouldn’t or exert himself too much. I make sure he’s safe. It’s what he’d have done for his father.”