Total pages in book: 143
Estimated words: 132834 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 664(@200wpm)___ 531(@250wpm)___ 443(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 132834 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 664(@200wpm)___ 531(@250wpm)___ 443(@300wpm)
“In Nicky’s room, doing something with those cards they both like. Apparently, there was some serious trading going on at school today.”
“Hmm.” I was too distracted by the changes in the kitchen to say more. Finn hadn’t changed everything, but what he’d done had impact.
The Heartstone Manor kitchens were divided into multiple rooms. When the house was initially built, there’d been the pastry kitchen, the rotisserie kitchen, and the scullery kitchen, all branching off the main kitchen, as well as assorted pantries. The small apartment off the main kitchen that Nicky and I lived in had once been the staff dining room, Nicky’s bedroom the staff pantry. As modernization had taken over the house, the need for so much staff had declined, and the staff dining room had been turned into living quarters, the staff dining table incorporated into the main kitchen.
I’d always loved the main kitchen, cozy despite its vast size. The lower level had a Gothic vibe due to its rough stone and exposed metal pipes, but the main kitchen was bright and open, with large rectangular windows set high in the walls.
A massive cast iron and enamel stove, shipped from England not long after the turn of the previous century, took up a chunk of one long wall. More modern commercial convection ovens and a gas range took another chunk. A long butcher block island divided the room.
On the opposite wall from the stove and ovens, deep counters ran the length of the room, interrupted by a wide farmhouse-style sink. Most of the washing up was done in the scullery kitchen, with its even bigger sink and commercial dishwashers, but the farmhouse sink was big enough for any washing up that had to be done while cooking.
In the few hours he’d been in charge, Finn had markedly improved the room's flow. The island had been cluttered since our first cook had taken over. Now it was cleared of everything, just as it had been when Chef Guérard had ruled the Heartstone kitchens. Beneath the island, a shelf ran its length, now neatly organized with wire baskets, filled with what, I couldn’t tell.
The previous cooks had used the old staff dining table as a prep area, despite it being across the room from the stove, range, and ovens. Finn had relocated the prep area closer to the largest pantry, the refrigerator, and the cooking space, leaving the dining table free to be put back to its intended use. Someone had taken the time to find placemats. A small pewter vase filled with wildflowers sat in the middle of the table.
“Did you set the table?” I asked my mother in a voice too low for Finn to hear.
She shook her head. “It was like this when I got here. He fed the boys a snack—apples and peanut butter, tea, and a cookie—and reset the table when they were done.”
I stared at my mother, speechless. Finally, I murmured, “He made them tea? Afternoon tea?”
My mother smiled, glancing over to watch Finn as he peeked in the oven at something that sent a wave of buttery garlic into the room. I hadn’t realized how hungry I was until I got here. If dinner tasted half as good as it smelled, maybe I wouldn’t murder Finn. Maybe.
He’d fed the kids snacks and tea? At the table, like civilized humans? I tapped my fingers on the table, lips pressed together, avoiding my mother’s eyes and watching Finn. He looked down at his phone and shoved it in his pocket. Swiftly, he pulled a huge metal baking pan from the oven and carried it to the island, cutting generous portions of lasagna and plating them carefully, garnishing each with a double leaf of basil. Faster than I would have thought possible, he had every plate ready for the trip to the dining room. Finn was stacking the covered plates to carry to the dumbwaiter when my mother nudged me.
“Go help him,” she ordered.
I wanted to argue. My feet were sore, I was exhausted, starving, and my lower back hurt. I could have killed a bar of chocolate. I knew what that meant. My period was due in a few days, and I was about to hit maximum crankiness. I did not want to help Finn. Even if his lasagna did smell divine. Even if I would have jumped to help anyone else.
My mother tipped her head down and gave me her best mom glare. Sighing, I stood and crossed the kitchen to Finn. “How can I help?”
He shot me a surprised look, then jerked a shoulder in one of those shrugs I hated. “I’ve got it.”
Shifting impatiently, I lifted my chin toward the dining table. “I can’t go sit back down. My mom will yell at me.”
Finn’s grin lit his green eyes. “Miss Martha always liked me best.”