Never Say Never: Gravel Hill Boys Book Two

40. Madison

Michal was bustlingabout the kitchen, and since the first-floor of my penthouse was open concept, there was a decided lack of privacy. I could go up to my room, but I was sick of being cooped up inside. I felt like a prisoner in my own home.

My place was no longer my own. And after nearly three weeks of Ian shadowing my every move, I needed some alone time. I slathered myself with sunscreen, grabbed one of the baby books Ian had left behind, my sunglasses, and a bottle of iced ginger tea and headed up to my terrace to soak up some Vitamin D and do some serious thinking.

I hadn’t expected Liane to call me last night, especially after I’d called her earlier in the day and again demanded she come home. Fortunately, she calmed me down again and made me think long and hard about what I wanted not only for my business, but for myself. I hadn’t stopped thinking about it since.

When she asked about the nursery, I was embarrassed. I regretted how I treated Ian after all he had done for me and the baby. I could blame my pregnancy brain and hormones, but that was no excuse for acting like an entitled brat.

Who was I hurting here? Me, for one, if the headaches, swollen ankles, and sausage fingers returned. Scarier than that, however, was how this might affect my baby? Dr. Abernathy made it clear that I needed to watch my blood pressure or I’d be on bedrest for the remainder of my pregnancy. Or worse, hospitalized with an early induction date. And while being pregnant hadn’t been my idea of a good time thus far, I wasn’t in a hurry to get it over with to the detriment of Little Satsuma.

A smile formed as I rubbed a hand over my swollen belly, warm from the late summer sun and big as a head of cabbage.

Closing my eyes, I tipped my head back and let the sun kiss my face. Muted street sounds rose up from twenty-four floors below, lulling this city girl into the beginning of a nap, until my phone chirped from the table beside me. So much for relaxing.

“Yes?” I answered, unhappy at being disturbed.

“Ms. Enright, it’s Michal. You have visitors.”

“Visitors?” Not one person I wanted to see was currently in the country. “I’m not expecting visitors. Who is it?”

“Two women. They are the family of Mr. Enright.”

I sat up. “What?” If my father sent his latest hookup to look after me, I swear, I’d…

Muffled voices came through the line, one heavily accented French, and the others, if I was not mistaken, contained a definite Southern lilt.

“Pardon. It is the family of your monsieur.”

My monsieur?“Mr. Donohue?” I don’t know why I asked. Ian had probably sent in reinforcements to advocate for him.

“Oui.”

With an exaggerated sigh, I swung my legs over the edge of the chaise lounge and tucked a few stray hairs back into the messy bun atop my head. “I’ll be right down,” I said, more than a little irritated at not being dressed for company and having to meet Ian’s family for the first time without him. It was inevitable that we meet—we shared a baby after all—but the least he could’ve done was to warn me they were coming and be here when they arrived. Of course, he could be skulking in the hall outside my door.

I smoothed my hand over the front of the sleeveless wrap dress I was wearing and headed downstairs to find two women standing at the wall of windows in my living room looking out at the view. They were both redheads, only the younger one had that flaming red hair that you can’t get from a bottle, while the other—Ian’s mother, I presumed—had darker auburn hair, very much like her son.

“Good afternoon,” I said, announcing myself and sounding like I’d just entered a business meeting. “I’m Madison Enright.”

The two women turned, and while the younger one held back, checking me out from head-to-toe and finding me lacking, the older woman rushed me, arms wide, coming in for a hug. I was tempted to hold up my hands to stop her. I was not a hugger.

Her arms not only wrapped around me, trapping mine at my side, she squeezed while I stood as stiff as someone in a straitjacket. Still holding on tight, she pulled back to look at my face. Her eyes were brimming; her smile was sincere and open; and while I wasn’t a fan of being fondled by strangers, she exuded warmth and kindness. My body softened and leaned into the hug, while Little Satsuma kicked and begged to be noticed. It was like she knew—dear god—her Meemaw had arrived.

Another hug and then she relaxed her grip and took a step back, still holding onto my arms. “Look at you! Lordy, my grandbaby’s gonna be a looker.” Her eyes filled. “Look at me I’ carried away already. I’m Siobhan Donohue, but you’re welcome to go ahead and call me Ma, and this here’s my youngest girl, Maylene.”

It was odd how comfortable I felt in this woman’s presence. There was a small handful of people who made me feel that way. I sniffed the air and wondered if perhaps her perfume reminded me of one of them, but all I noticed was the faintest scent of chamomile.

I stepped back. “Sit, please.” I waved at the luxe white sofas in my almost barren—thanks to Ian—living room. “Can I get you something to drink? Coffee, tea? Something cold perhaps?”

Ian’s mother looked taken aback. “Honey, no. You sit. We’re here to take care of you.”

“Wh-what?”

Maylene, who’d been mostly silent, spoke up. “Ian had to leave town, so he asked us to look after you until he returns. My mother-in-law offered to babysit so I could come along and help.”

Ian wasn’t even in the city and he was ticking me off. “How kind of you, but as you can see, I’m fine. There’s no need for anyone to look after me. Besides, I have Michal.” I waved toward the kitchen to the short, squat French man packing up his bag of tricks.

“Excuse-moi, Mlle. Enright. I’m leaving. Your meals are in the refrigerator. I labeled them with directions to heat. I will return on Monday.” He dipped his head. “Au revoir.”

Great timing, Michal. Thanks for nothing. “Au revoir,” I responded listlessly then forced a smile. “Now, about those drinks. What can I get you before you head home?”

Maylene smirked. “Well, bless your heart. Mama, I think she’s tossing us out.”

“No, of course not!” I lied. “But there’s no need for you to stay. If I need anything, all I have to do is pick up the phone and call the concierge downstairs and it will be delivered in minutes. I’m sorry that you came all this way for nothing.”

“Nonsense,” Mrs. Donohue said as she bustled past me and unzipped a satchel near the door that I hadn’t noticed earlier. She pulled out an apron proclaiming her WORLD’S BEST COOK, slipped it over her head, and tied it around her trim waist.

I followed her into the kitchen—my kitchen.

“Excuse me, Mrs. Donohue. What are you doing?”

She waved me off. “Please, everyone calls me Ma or Mama. If that makes you uncomfortable, call me Siobhan. Mrs. Donohue is my mother-in-law.”

“Meemaw?” I squeaked.

Maylene took hold of my elbow and led me to the dining table. “Meemaw couldn’t make it this time. Why don’t you have a seat and get comfy, hon. You’re outnumbered.”

Ian was overbearing, but he was a pushover compared to these two.

“Where’s your flour?” Siobhan called from inside the butler’s pantry. “I declare! There’s shoes in here.”

Maylene looked at me confused. “A place this big and you don’t have closets?”

I rubbed my forehead as cabinet doors in the butler’s pantry opened and banged shut.

“I do. I have closets,” I stammered. “I just have a lot of shoes and…things.”

“And handbags,” Mrs. Donohue called out. “It looks like one of them fancy stores you’d see on that TV show you used to watch, Maylie. The one with all them Kardashian girls.”

“I don’t cook, so I don’t have a need for all the accoutrements to do so. I put the space to better use by storing whatever I may need before I walk out the door each day. It’s very efficient,” I added defensively.

Mrs. Donohue blinked at me.

“Makes sense,” Maylene said. “Seriously, Mama. If I didn’t have to cook, I wouldn’t either.”

Mrs. Donohue frowned at her daughter. “Oh, pssh. You don’t mean that.”

Maylene grinned and whispered conspiratorially, “That’s what she thinks.”

I liked her. I liked them both, honestly, which was odd since I also felt as if I’d been invaded, but it was like being invaded by Care Bears instead of a plague of locusts.

I got up and went into the kitchen. “Ian did some cooking, and I’m sure he bought some supplies.”

I checked a few cabinets around the kitchen before I moved onto the cabinets below the cooktop.

“Here we go. Pots, pans. One of those big, heavy cooking things. There are some glass dishes and cookie sheets. And some of those muffin things.” I felt like I’d just discovered the latest Birkin bag.

Ian’s mother came up beside me. “This’ll do nicely.” She wrapped an arm around my shoulders and gave me a squeeze. “We’ll be cookin’ with gas soon, honey.”

“Oh, sorry, no. The kitchen is all electric.”

She squeezed harder before letting go. “It’s just a saying. It means we’re making progress and getting it done.”

I nodded as if I understood.

“Now, before you go set yourself down, what about dishes, silverware. Where do you keep all that?”

“Um…” Good lord, for someone who held three degrees, I was a real dunce. “I don’t really have any of that. It’s just me, and when I entertain, the caterers bring?—”

“Found ‘em,” Maylene yelled from inside the large pantry, where in addition to storing a large portion of my accessories, there was an additional cooktop, refrigerator, and another set of ovens. Crazy, I know, for someone who doesn’t cook, but I didn’t design the kitchen. I was just utilizing the space.

She appeared in the doorway holding up one of the plates Ian had bought last week.

“Yes, but I think there are only two plates.”

Maylene looked confused. “No, ma’am. Looks like service for twelve.”

“What?” I followed her into the pantry. Sure enough, in the cabinet where I used to keep my winter bags there were dinner plates, salad plates, soup bowls, cups, and saucers. All white with the same band of platinum around the edge. On one shelf was a bamboo utensil box filled with forks, knives, and spoons sitting next to a tall stack of white linen napkins. Matching coffee mugs, tea cups, and dessert plates were on another shelf. There was even a matching teapot and serving dishes.

“What the…” I picked up a silver serving spoon. “These aren’t mine.” I put the spoon down and reached for a dessert plate and held it up to the light. I could see my fingers through the translucency. At least it was fine bone china. I turned the plate. Haviland.

Lovely and very much my style—simple and elegant—but how?

Maylene counted out six plates, six forks, and six knives, and carried them out of the pantry.

“Looks like Mr. Fancy-pants has been shopping, Mama.”

I knew immediately who she was talking about but was more interested in why she needed so many plates.

The clang of the big cast iron pot Ian had bought being pulled from under the stove drew my attention away from Maylene, and I watched in stunned silence as Mrs. Donohue began to unload a large cooler I’d also missed somehow.

Were these women magicians? Some sort of conjurers or was my poor brain really that muddled?

“I’m gonna get this stew to cooking ‘cause it’s gonna take some time, and then we can whip up some biscuits. How’s that sound?”

My mouth watered. “Meemaw’s stew?” What could I say, that stew had been delicious.

She grinned and it was like a dose of sunshine. “You had Meemaw’s stew?”

“Ian made it. I’d never really had stew before, at least not like that. It was delicious.”

“Then you’re in luck, ‘cause that’s exactly what we’re gonna have tonight.”

“Oh, you don’t have to do that. Michal left me enough food for the weekend, and I can?—”

“Nonsense. You save those fancy meals for another time. In fact, why don’t we just pop all that in the freezer, and I’ll make sure you eat real good this weekend.”

My eyes widened. “You’re staying for the weekend?”

“She is,” Maylene said while setting the table with twice as many dishes as necessary. “The rest of us are only spending the night. Although, I’m not sure about Fiona and Ellie. Me and Bridget have little ones to get back to.”

My head was spinning. “Excuse me, what do you mean by the rest of us?”

Maylene gave me a sly grin. “Bridget, Fiona, and Ellie?”

I blinked, and she laughed. “My sisters. Bridget is the oldest; then comes Fiona, Ellie, me, and then the baby.”

“Maylene,” Mrs. Donohue warned from the kitchen where she was slicing onions.

“Ian’s the baby. He’s the youngest.”

The tall, bearded man, with auburn hair; warm, green eyes; and quick, easy smile was the baby? I couldn’t help it; I snorted, then covered my mouth quickly, but it was too late.

Maylene had a quick laugh, and while Mrs. Donohue tutted in the kitchen.

“It’s a little shocking to hear you call him the baby, but to be honest, he sometimes acts like a baby. He’s stubborn and willful and always expects to get his way.”

Mrs. Donohue was quiet. Maylene just blinked at me, and I was regretting what I’d said until she burst out laughing. “Oh, honey. You have no idea.” She gave my arm a squeeze as she passed me on her way back into the pantry. “We’re gonna fill you in on all the good stuff.”

“You girls are gonna behave,” Mrs. Donohue warned her. The pot sizzled as she scraped the onions from the cutting board into the hot oil before turning to me. I overstepped with my assertion of Ian, but the warm twinkle in her light green eyes hadn’t faded. “No doubt my boy is all those things, but there’s so much more. He’s like these here onions. You just got to keep peeling the layers back to find it all.”

I swallowed. “Yes but peeling an onion will make you cry.”

“That’s true, but give it a little love and a little heat, and the result can be sweet or savory with just a little bite to it.” She winked, and my smile was automatic.

“I guess I haven’t seen much of those layers you’re talking about.”

“Oh, I bet you have. Everything Ian does comes from a place of love. Now that doesn’t mean he’s right in the way he goes about it, or at all on occasion, but he’s got a big heart, especially for those he loves. I’ve no doubt there’ve been days he’s made you want to throttle him, but he’s just trying to look after you and the little one. Maybe give yourself a minute to take a step back, get a little perspective; you might see that you’ve been peeling that onion all along.”

My eyes burned. It could’ve been the onions, but it also could’ve been because of what she’d said. And while she’d sort of put me in my place when it came to her son, I didn’t feel like I’d been scolded. It felt more like she’d given me insight into her son. To be honest, I’d already discovered some of those layers.

She dropped the chunks of beef into the pot, added some seasoning, then added the lid, and set it to simmer.

“While that cooks, you and me, we’re gonna make biscuits.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t cook.”

“That’s okay, honey.” She winked. “We’re gonna bake.”

“I don’t do that either.”

“How about I teach you? It’s not hard. We’ll make a bunch for tonight, and then you can freeze the rest, if you like, to have with those fancy dinners of yours. Besides, it’ll give us something to do while we’re waiting for the rest of ‘em to get here.”

With her hands wrapped around my upper arms, she directed me into the kitchen and up to the island where she’d already set out a large bowl, flour, and buttermilk. She pulled a pound of butter out of my freezer, and then, before I knew it, she’d produced another apron and dropped it over my head. It was a light gray floral print studded with cabbage roses. It had navy and white polka dot ties, a front pocket, and a ruffled bottom edge. Never in my life had I ever imagined owning, let alone wearing, an apron.

What is happening here?

“I don’t suppose you have a grater; I forgot to bring mine.”

“I don’t know. I don’t think so?” It was hard to make a declarative statement when I had no clue what was in my kitchen other than shoes, scarves, and handbags.

She poked around in cabinets and drawers while I stood there feeling more than a little foolish.

“Eureka!” she cried, producing a grater from a deep drawer in the kitchen. I’d never seen the thing before in my life.

“Okay, now, honey. I want you to grate this frozen butter. We need it to be nice and cold to get flaky biscuits.” I nodded and got to grating, gripping the block of frozen butter and trying not to ruin my manicure on the sharp edges.

“You’re gonna have to go faster than that, sweetheart.” Mrs. Donohue gave me a benevolent smile. “The longer it takes, the more it warms up.” I scraped the butter a few more times, but then she stopped me. “How about I do that and you measure two-and-a-half cups of flour into that bowl?”

I wasn’t even surprised to see measuring cups on my counter, because why not?

I scooped out the flour and dumped it into the bowl while she went to town on the butter. But then she stopped and put her hand on mine. “You really haven’t done any of this before, have you?” she asked gently.

I shook my head.

“Let me show you how to measure. Baking is a science. You can be a little loosey goosey when you’re cooking, but baking needs to be exact.” She dumped the flour I’d measured into another bowl, and then scooped a cup from the bag. Using a knife, she scraped the top, leveling it off. “There now; we have exactly one cup. Unless a recipe calls for a heaping tablespoon or teaspoon…or cup, then you make sure to level it off. Too much flour would make the biscuits dry and hard. We don’t want that, right?”

“No, ma’am.” I measured out the flour as instructed, making sure each cup was level before adding it to the bowl. Mrs. Donohue finished grating the butter and after adding it to the flour, tucked the bowl into the refrigerator for a bit. She then had me add the buttermilk, give it a quick stir, and after tossing flour all over my clean countertops, dumped the mixture on top.

My cellphone rang and I peeked over the counter to see it was Liane calling. Covered with flour and butter, I wanted to ignore it and call her back, but the situation in London had been such a nightmare, I didn’t want to take a chance. I rubbed my hands on my apron and swiped to answer.

“Hey, everything all right?”

“I was going to ask you that. I think we’ve finally turned the corner here. If everything goes to plan, I might be able to head back by the middle of next week.”

I breathed a sigh of relief. “That would be wonderful. I’ll keep my fingers crossed.” Mrs. Donohue moved about the kitchen again, opening and closing drawers, obviously looking for something else.

“Listen, Liane, if everything’s good on your end, I’ve gotta run. I’m making biscuits.”

There was nothing but silence on the other end. I checked to see if the call had dropped, but we were still connected. “Hello? Liane?”

“Um…I’m here. Madison?”

“Of course it’s Madison. You called me.”

“Yes, but I called Madison Enright. She doesn’t eat carbs, or biscuits, let alone make them. I think I called the wrong number?”

“Very funny.”

“Seriously, Mads? You have flour and shortening and shit?”

“You don’t use shortening in biscuits. You use butter.”

Mrs. Donohue gave me a thumbs up.

“And apparently, I do have all that.” I lowered my voice. “Although to be honest, I don’t know where half of this stuff came from.”

My best friend laughed so loud I had to pull the phone away from my ear.

“Damn, and I’m over here missing it all.”

“Yeah, well, hurry up and take care of business and get back home. I’ve missed you.”

“I miss you too. I’ll let you get back to work, Betty Crocker. Save me a biscuit.”

“I will,” I promised, “but who’s Betty Crocker?”

There was more laughter on Liane’s end before the line went dead.

Mrs. Donohue picked up as if we hadn’t been interrupted by the phone call.

“You have a rolling pin?”

“Um…” I scanned the kitchen quickly, knowing the answer was I don’t know, but too embarrassed to say it.

Maylene strolled out of the pantry carrying a rolling pin and a pink Chanel bag. She handed her mother the rolling pin and held up the bag with an earnest grin. “Think I can borrow this next April? Owen’s deployment ends and the day after he gets home, I’m taking him away for a long weekend. We’re stayin’ at a fancy hotel and everything. Although…maybe I won’t need this after all. Who knows if we’ll even leave the room?” She grinned and held the bag against her chest. “But it sure is a beauty. I follow all those celebrities on Instagram and see them parading around with their fancy purses and things. Who knew I’d ever get to touch one?”

Never in my life had anyone asked to borrow something of mine. It just wasn’t done. All my friends growing up had their own designer bags. Next April, she’d said. As if we would be seeing each other again. Once this baby was born, these people wouldn’t be populating my life. Ian would have his time with Satsuma, but I wouldn’t be there to visit his family alongside him and our baby. And while I was grateful that they cared enough about the baby to visit and cook for me, it didn’t make much sense, given I had a chef to prepare my meals.

Ian had asked them to come and they did; for him. Because of his big heart, like his mother had just said.

“Maylene,” Ian’s mother scolded. “Stop pawing through Madison’s things and give me that rolling pin. The butter’s getting’ warm.”

“I don’t mind.” I smiled at Maylene. “Do you really like it?”

She played with the gold chain strap and the decorative strands of imitation pearls and ran her finger over the iconic double-C clasp on the quilted, pink lambskin, and sighed. “I love it. It’s the most beautiful purse I’ve ever seen. And this leather feels like butter.”

It was a beautiful bag, and I’d only used it once, but would I miss it? Probably not.

I took the bag from Maylene and opened it. The only thing inside was the valet ticket from the country club. After removing it, I handed the bag back to Maylene.

“It’s yours.”

Mrs. Donohue stopped her fussing about the kitchen, and Maylene froze, her eyes as wide as saucers.

“What? No way. I could never.” She glanced at her mother. “I shouldn’t’ve even asked to borrow it. I’m sorry. I don’t got much of a filter some days.” She tried to hand the bag back to me, but I refused to take it.

“I mean it. It’s yours.”

“Maylene…” Mrs. Donohue warned, but it was too late. Maylene threw her arms around me and squeezed my shoulders.

“You’re my favorite sister-in-law ever.”

Talk about eyes as big as saucers. I gaped and blinked and felt as if I were suffocating in her embrace. “No. No. Ian and I aren’t a couple. We’re not dating. We’re not doing anything.”

“Well, you must’ve done something.” She laughed and rubbed my belly. “There’s the proof. Besides, I know he proposed. It’s just a matter of time ‘til he wears you down.” She leaned in conspiratorially. “That boy could charm the morning dew right off the honeysuckle when he puts his mind to it.”

“I don’t know what that means, but I can promise, there will be no wearing down. We’re like night and day.” I rubbed my belly. “Other than this baby, we’ve got nothing in common.”

Mrs. Donohue clucked from her side of the kitchen island, while Maylene let out a raucous laugh.

“Just you wait,” she said. “You’ll see.”