Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 100713 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 504(@200wpm)___ 403(@250wpm)___ 336(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100713 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 504(@200wpm)___ 403(@250wpm)___ 336(@300wpm)
“Beckett said he could help me with that.”
Moretti smirked at me. “I’m sure he did. I’ll be in touch over the weekend.”
“Sounds good. Thanks so much.”
“Hey, what are you guys up to tonight?” he asked. “We’re heading into town for drinks with Griffin and Blair later. Want to meet us?”
“Nah, I can’t.” I glanced at my dad, who was making his way toward us from the porch steps.
“Beckett, go ahead,” urged Maddie. “I’ll be home with Elliott anyway. I can keep an eye on things.”
“Maybe another time.” I was actually looking forward to having a couple beers with Maddie after my dad went to bed. Catching up for real, with no distractions.
“Suit yourself. Ready to go?” Moretti asked his wife.
“Yes.” Bianca took his hand and gave Maddie a smile. “Don’t forget to call me.”
“I won’t.”
“Bye, Elliott! Nice meeting you! Bye, Mr. Weaver,” Bianca called, giving them a wave. Moretti waved too, and they began walking down the gravel driveway.
“Hey, wait a minute!” my dad yelled as they reached their SUV. “You guys going by the train station? I could use a lift.”
Maddie and I exchanged a look, and she smiled sadly, gently touching her heart, like it was bruised.
Mine too, I thought. Mine too.
Four
Maddie
When we got home, Elliott went out to the barn with Beckett and I went up to my room to unpack, since I hadn’t had time to do it before.
I put underwear, socks, shorts, jeans, T-shirts, a bathing suit and my pajamas into the dresser drawers and hung a few nicer items in the closet. Not that I’d brought anything too fancy—a couple sundresses and a white blouse. Beneath them I placed a pair of flats, some flip-flops, and a pair of wedge sandals. Back in Ohio, I had a closet full of designer clothes and shoes I rarely wore, a bathroom vanity lined with expensive perfumes, a jewelry box that glittered with pricey gifts from Sam that never made up for his lack of real affection and further revealed how little he cared to know me.
I was a jeans and sneakers girl. I didn’t need the fancy shit. What I’d wanted was something worth more than money.
A knock on the closed bedroom door startled me. “Come in,” I called.
The door opened and Beckett appeared. “Hi. Sorry to bother you.”
“You never bother me.” I stuck my hands in my back pockets. “What’s up?”
“Just wondering if chicken is okay for dinner. That’s what I was planning to make.”
“Of course.” I moved toward him. “Let me help. In fact, why don’t you let me make dinner?”
“Because you’re a guest.”
“I’m not a guest guest.” I swatted playfully at his firm chest. “I’m an old friend staying with you, and I’d love to make dinner tonight.”
“Okay,” he said with a shrug. “I’m sure whatever you make will be better than what I’d do anyway.”
“What were you going to do?”
“Uh, something with chicken. And maybe some noodles.”
I laughed. “Let me take a look in your pantry and see what I can come up with.”
His eyes dropped to my mouth. “I think there might be some more asparagus in the garden.”
“Oooh!” I rubbed my palms together, excited by the thought of cooking with ingredients freshly pulled from the ground. “Come on, let’s go out to the garden and see. And let’s bring Elliott. Maybe he’ll eat asparagus if he picks it!”
After poking around in Beckett’s fridge and pantry, I decided to make chicken paprikash, one of the few dishes I’d learned to make from my mother, who was of Hungarian descent. Despite the complicated relationship she and I had, I always enjoyed cooking with her. And making a recipe she’d learned to make as a girl somehow made me feel connected to extended family, even though I’d never known any.
In the garden, Elliott helped pick asparagus and radishes. He was delighted by the color of the radishes and gave them an honest try, but wasn’t crazy about the taste. The asparagus, we tossed in a little olive oil, sprinkled with some salt and pepper, then put them in the oven to roast.
Once the food was on the table, we sat down to eat, Beckett across from his father, me right next to Beckett, and Elliott across from me. I was so used to meals with just the two of us, this felt like a special occasion.
“This looks incredible, Maddie,” said Beckett. “Much better than anything I can make.”
“That’s true,” said his dad.
I laughed. “Thank you. I really love cooking and rarely get to cook for more than two. A six-year-old doesn’t have a very adventurous palate, so I make a lot of comfort foods.”
As we ate, we chatted more about the house and what might be done to fix it up.
“Bianca is so nice,” I said. “I’m glad she came with Enzo today.”
“She is nice,” he agreed, “and she’s perfect for him. But the funny thing is, they couldn’t stand each other for the longest time.”