Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 71198 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 356(@200wpm)___ 285(@250wpm)___ 237(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71198 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 356(@200wpm)___ 285(@250wpm)___ 237(@300wpm)
“I don’t bite.” I focus on the woman across the room at that comment and watch her smile warmly. “You must be Everly.”
“I am, and you’re Janet?” I prompt, and she nods.
“That’s me.” She motions to the coffeepot on the counter with a tip of her head. “Coffee’s fresh, and if you don’t mind being a guinea pig and aren’t allergic to gluten or on a diet, I’ve got some fresh apple pie scones coming out of the oven in just a few minutes.”
“I love carbs, and diets are dumb.”
“A woman after my own heart.” She laughs, and the tension in my shoulders eases. “Get yourself a cup of coffee and pull up a stool,” she orders, and I don’t put up an argument. After filling a mug, I dump in some cream and sugar and take a seat across from her at a long metal island in the middle of the massive industrial kitchen.
“So tell me about yourself,” she says as I take my first sip of heaven in a cup.
“There isn’t much to tell you,” I reply, and she stops what she’s doing to study me.
“We both know that’s a lie. I can tell just by looking into your eyes that you’ve got a story.”
“True, but my story can’t fit into the next fifteen minutes,” I tell her quietly, and her expression softens.
“Fair enough. Tell me the good parts then.”
“I have a son,” I start. “His name is Sampson, and he just turned eleven months old.”
“Do you have any pictures?”
“On my phone, I have a million, but I left my cell in the office when I smelled the coffee brewing in here.”
“Then you have a reason to come back and visit me again.” She smiles before dumping a bag of pecans into the bowl she’s been mixing.
“What are you making?”
“Chicken fruit salad,” she tells me, and I must make a face, because she laughs.
“It’s delicious. Give me a second to finish up, and I’ll give you a bite.”
“That’s not necessary.” I shake my head and hold up a hand.
“Do you like chicken?”
“Yes.”
“Grapes, pineapple, pecans?” she asks as she grabs a couple of spices and sprinkles them into the bowl.
“Yes.”
“Then you’ll like it,” she assures me as she begins mixing the contents of the bowl once more.
“I don’t think so,” I deny, and she grabs a fork from a drawer, then scoops up some of the salad and hands it over to me.
“Just try it.”
Not wanting to be rude, I take the bite off the fork, and as I chew, I’m surprised how delicious the mixture is. The crunch from what I’m guessing is celery and pecans, along with the sweetness of pineapple and grapes and the spice of red onion, is like a party in my mouth.
“So what do you think?”
“Can I have the recipe?” I ask after I swallow, and the smile she gives me lights up her whole face.
“No, but I can make you a sandwich and leave it in the fridge so you can have it at lunch.”
“That works, too,” I say, and she takes the fork back and tosses it into the sink.
“So how are you liking working here?” Not sure I should tell her that I love working here but that her son is kind of an ass, I shrug.
“I like it. I still have lots to learn, but I’m starting to realize that will all come with time.”
“You’re right about that. I had a huge learning curve when I decided to take over the kitchen.” She walks to the double ovens on the wall when an alarm dings and puts on oven mitts before she pulls out a tray of golden scones that look like they should be in a magazine. “They look good.” She slips one off the tray and onto a plate. “I just need you to tell me if they taste good.”
With the plate in front of me, I pull off a piece and blow across it before tossing it into my mouth. As I savor the bite of sweet bread, apples, and spices, I shake my head before I swallow. “If I ever hit the lottery, I’m stealing you away from this place and hiring you myself.”
“I might just take you up on that offer,” she says; then her eyes move over my shoulder as an odd sensation travels up my spine. Turning on my stool, I watch Blake walk into the kitchen and head around the island I’m sitting at to kiss his mom on the cheek. Seeing that from him and the happy look on her face, I relax. For the last couple of days, I’ve started to wonder if I’ve been avoiding him or if he’s been avoiding me. All I know is we haven’t spent much—if any—time together, and when we are in the same vicinity, we each avoid any type of interaction.