Total pages in book: 141
Estimated words: 141676 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 708(@200wpm)___ 567(@250wpm)___ 472(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 141676 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 708(@200wpm)___ 567(@250wpm)___ 472(@300wpm)
The kitchen has been the focal point of the house for as long as I can remember, and not just for baking. It’s a place of memories, hard work, endless laughter, and life.
“So, Dexter, tell me about yourself. Junie’s been holding all your secrets so close to her chest I’m worried she’ll suffocate them,” Nana says as she heaps heavenly potatoes onto my plate. Far too many, but that’s how she rolls. It’s not dinner unless you stumble away overfed and bursting at the seams.
He glances at me slowly.
The moment of truth.
“We don’t talk business much, do we, Sweet Stuff?” The endearment slips from his tongue like honey. I don’t know whether to laugh hysterically or burst into flames. Or how to pretend this is anything close to ordinary.
“Uh, yeah. I barely know what you do.” I laugh awkwardly, playing it off as a joke, but if Nana only knew the truth…
“I’m a founding member and owner of Higher Ends International,” Dexter says, launching into a polished summary he must’ve used in a hundred meetings. While he explains their bougie luxury rental business—in excruciating detail, no less—I study my plate so I’m not scrutinizing Nana’s face every second, wondering if she’s buying it.
The ribs are cooked to perfection with a sauce that does Kansas City proud. The pies Nana used to supply to the best smokehouses in town for a bargain really paid off when the barbecue masters invited her to learn from them.
The potatoes, too, crunchy with just the right hint of rosemary. A little of her homemade aioli on the side makes my mouth sing.
She’s outdone herself, but she always does.
If only I could enjoy it in peace…
After Dexter finishes his spiel, grudgingly giving his brothers a little credit for their shared success, she clasps her hands and says grace.
I bite my cheek and glance up at him, but his expression doesn’t crack. He just bows his head respectfully.
“…good God, good meat, Amen and let’s eat!” Nana finishes with a wolfish smile, looking up at us both. She may be old-fashioned, but she tries to make her traditions fun. “Hurry up and clean your plates. There’s plenty more where that came from.”
“Gladly,” Dexter says, stripping meat off a rib and shoveling it into his mouth.
There’s something weirdly adorable about him eating with real passion, not picking at his plate with perfectly mild manners like I figured he would. I know Nana appreciates it too, nodding her approval as his food disappears rapidly.
I join in, gobbling up potatoes while Nana fires off a few more questions about his company. Of course.
She’s probably thrilled that I’m finally dating someone with a better idea of how to run a business than I have.
“Sounds like you have a lot of responsibilities,” she says.
“Some,” he agrees. “It isn’t always pretty, but I manage.”
“Maybe you and Junie could talk about her big plans for the Sugar Bowl.” Nana points at me with her fork.
Ouch.
I smile painfully. “I guess it wouldn’t hurt. When the opportunity comes knocking—”
“Actually, we try not to mix business and our private lives.” Dexter looks at me. I realize he’s giving me an out. “In the future, we’ll certainly touch more on our careers. For now, we’re enjoying our time together. It isn’t always easy finding it with our rigid schedules, and who wants to talk about work?”
Nice save, Big Fish.
“Ah, okay. How did you two meet?” Nana asks. “Junie never did say.”
Oh God.
I take a big gulp of wine as Dex looks at me and smiles, waiting for me to take this one.
“We met at the Nelson-Atkins museum last winter,” I say carefully. “Turns out, he’s a big fan of modern art.”
“She walked up to me admiring my favorite piece and insulted it to my face,” he says bluntly. I send him a glare. This wasn’t part of the plan. “She told me modern art can be—what was it you said, Junie?”
I remember the conversation we had in his office.
“Uh, underwhelming? Colorful but confusing? What can I say, I like my pretty pictures more when I don’t need a psych degree to understand them…”
“Right, that’s it. And I said—”
“You asked if I need everything spelled out when I take a walk in the woods. You insisted some art can be so abstract it has its own meaning, just like nature. Then I got up in arms and told you how wrong you were.”
“She was smitten in the first five minutes,” he says, throwing a heavy look at Nana.
She cackles wildly.
“Excuse me?” I jab my fork at him. “You were the one who asked me out for coffee!”
“Yeah. Somebody had to correct your prehistoric opinions on everything after Monet and Van Gogh.”
“Oh, right, so that’s why you asked me out.” I shake my head.
His face relaxes into an easy smile that crinkles the corner of his eyes. “Nah. I asked you out because I love seeing you get all worked up about the stuff you care about. A lot of people won’t do that for anything.”