6. Chapter 6
Chapter 6
J ules’ head pounded with a slight hangover the next morning as she sat across from her grandma at the kitchen table sipping her coffee. She tried to give her a condensed version of her night, casually mentioning that Miles would be coming over to take a look at a few things later. Not wanting to play one hundred questions, she tried as best she could to give her grandma enough details to satisfy, but nothing more.
Luckily, Grandma Rosa had something else on her mind, so she didn’t linger too long on the whole Miles situation.
“Baby girl,” she started, “When Val was over last night, she brought up a great idea and I wanted to run it by you.”
Val was one of Grandma Rosa’s longest friends and lived in The Landing, a luxury retirement community that catered to seniors at various stages of aging.
“What is it?” Jules replied, happy to switch topics.
Sitting up tall, she continued, “Well, I told her about our little cooking project and that we keep making entirely too much food for the two of us. She mentioned that a few of the old folks at The Landing can’t stop complaining about the food they get from the cafeteria they share.”
She stopped to shake her head at the word “cafeteria,” as if it was the worst thing in the world. “So, Val suggested we take our leftovers there some nights so a handful of them can enjoy a delicious, home-cooked meal. She hopes it might shut up the old biddies. What’d you think? They’ll pay for the ingredients and your time.”
“Well, first, Val is an old person, so I’m not quite sure she should be calling other people old like it’s a bad thing. Second, I’m in. I’d love to help."
With that, they got to work deciding on that evening’s menu for the three of them, plus about a dozen or so women with discerning palates. Jules still needed to go to the grocery store before Miles showed up around four o’clock, not to mention take a shower and make herself presentable. With the decision for dinner made, she threw on some jeans and an old band t-shirt before making her way into town.
Scanning the aisles at John’s Shoppe for the ingredients to make the pesto gnocchi and fresh focaccia they'd decided on earlier, Jules heard her phone ding from her purse. She’d hadn't looked at it since she left the bar. Not even her usual laps around social media, email, and texts. What was wrong with her?
On the home screen, a text appeared:
Hi honey. Would you want to grab lunch tomorrow? I’ll drive into town to meet you. We could do Mexican? Xo -Mom
It used to annoy Jules how her mom would always end her texts with a sign off, like she didn’t already know who sent the message, but today she found it was slightly endearing. No one could say Barb wasn’t predictable. She punched out a quick response, telling her she could meet around one tomorrow for lunch at Los Ponchos, their favorite (and only) Mexican spot in town.
After hauling the grocery bags into the house and organizing her supplies, Jules got to work mixing the focaccia dough right away. It needed enough time to rise before baking later today. Jules had never made bread from scratch, but she wanted to learn, although her teacher didn’t go easy on her. Rosa watched her like a hawk the entire time, insisting she use a spoon to measure out the flour into the measuring cup to ensure she didn’t “over pack it,” and criticizing the way Jules kneaded the dough. In the end, though, they were both satisfied and left the bowl of dough on the counter to do its thing until they were ready for it later.
The afternoon passed quickly as she showered and tried not to focus on the nerves fluttering in her stomach. She reminded herself that Miles was only coming over to help fix a few things around the house and nothing more. Her grandma would be there, too, which would help ease some of the awkward tension.
Jules also made a mental plan to help keep her busy: she would start cooking dinner while he fixed the ceiling fans upstairs. That way, she wouldn’t stare at him like a piece of perfectly cooked meat she wanted to devour, like last time.
Hoping to hide the fact that she was nursing a hangover, Jules curled her hair and applied subtle makeup to cover up the dark circles under her eyes. She wanted it to say, “I tried, but not too hard, and definitely not for you.”
Once back downstairs and feeling more alive, Jules tidied up a few things before Miles arrived. Soon, the big grandfather clock in the foyer dinged four, and the doorbell rang right on cue.
“Always on time, always a gentleman,” Grandma Rosa quipped, rising out of her seat at the same time Jules dramatically rolled her eyes.
“You better be careful or those might get stuck in the back of your head,” she teased.
They both made their way through the dining room and into the foyer, where they welcomed Miles at the door with wide smiles. Jules didn’t say anything at first, distracted by how his dark V-neck t-shirt hugged his body in all the right places. His hair was combed back, clearly styled, but not fussy. He looked like he just stepped out of a Carhart catalog with a large toolbox dangling from his hand and a hammer snug in his belt. Their eyes met for a brief second and her body pulsed with a warm, tingling feeling.
Tools and hammer, Jules. He came to work, not be ogled at , she silently chastised herself.
“Miles! It’s so nice to see you again. Please, come in,” her grandma welcomed, shooting Jules a quick side glance.
Picking up on the warning, Jules added, “Yes, hi. Come in and I’ll show you which fans are broken.”
Leading him upstairs, she took a moment to collect herself. Miles was only here to fix the fans because he was a nice guy. Not because he still had feelings for her.
He took one look at the ceiling fans and immediately knew what to do. Apparently, he’d just installed a similar fan in his own bedroom. Which was great, except the mention of his bedroom sent her thoughts to his bed, and her in it. Jules promptly excused herself.
Making her way downstairs, Jules caught her grandma standing wobbly in front of the counter with her weight on her good hip, prepping the pesto sauce.
“Excuse me, you’re supposed to be seated comfortably in the passenger seat of this kitchen while I drive,” Jules called from the doorway. Putting her hands up in mock surrender, Grandma Rosa put down the knife and hobbled over to a chair.
“You know I can’t help myself,” she said before adding, “Just like you can’t help but act a fool around that boy upstairs. You know I can read you like a book, right?”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about, old lady,” said Jules.
“It wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world to find your way back to him. Could do you some good, you know.”
Slowly turning to face her grandma, Jules said in a low voice, “You know why that can’t happen. He has a good life here. He doesn’t need me breaking his heart all over again with the truth.”
“If I remember correctly, he wasn’t the only one with a broken heart.”
“No, he wasn’t, which is just another reason I can’t go there.”
“Fair enough,” was all Rosa said before dropping the subject. It never did any good to argue with Jules. Plus, her grandma knew everything Jules went through after prom and understood that bringing it up could open old wounds.
The sauce didn’t take long to come together in the large pot on the stove while the focaccia baked in the oven, filling the house with the smells of yeasty bread as Jules rolled out the gnocchi and cut them into one-inch pieces for boiling.
Cooking in this kitchen again felt rhythmic and familiar. Like riding a bike again after forgetting it in the garage for a long time. She found herself floating around easily, following her grandma’s instructions but also knowing instinctively what to do next with a sense of control that intoxicated her. Tonight, time seemed to bend and slide by without either of them noticing.
After what felt like only mere minutes, Jules looked up at the kitchen door and was startled to see Miles standing there, calmly watching them cook. Flustered at the reminder he was in the house, Jules burned her wrist on the large pot of boiling gnocchi, cursing loudly. How long had he been standing there?
“You ok?” Miles rushed over to check.
She shooed him away, more concerned with not over cooking her gnocchi, which would explode if they were left in the hot water too long. Without asking, he grabbed plates from the cupboard and started setting the table. He still knew where everything was, as he’d spent countless hours in her grandma’s kitchen as a teenager. It both irked Jules and warmed her heart.
Miles had moved to Riverbend from Chicago at the start of his freshman year. The state had sent him to live with his aunt and her kids since his own mother was in and out of rehab and couldn’t hold down a steady job, let alone afford to house them both.
Although not ideal, it was the best of his two options: move in with his aunt or go into the foster care system. Like Jules, he’d never met his father. At least his aunt had agreed to take him on so he could stay in one place for high school, and Miles was close with his cousin Ricky. But after meeting Jules in their freshman year, he spent most of his time at Jules' grandparents' house, which was just down the road from his aunt’s. It all seemed to work out right up until everything changed on prom night.
At the dining table, the three of them ate in silence for a few moments, enjoying the rustic yet delectable food. Jules knew she’d done well as she watched Miles and her grandma relish the ritual of breaking bread together. She loved that feeling, the way good food could make people pause and forget their day for a few pleasurable minutes at the table while satisfying the need to nourish their bodies. It felt primal and natural.
Forgetting the awkward tension from before, the conversation eventually flowed freely from Miles’ home renovation and the house garden that needed serious attention to the newest true crime podcast Jules was binging. Laughter rose through the kitchen window, punctuating the warm evening for anyone who might walk past. For the first time in a while, Jules could feel her walls coming down, something eroding away the tough exterior she’d built over the past decade.
Jules ventured into more personal territory. “How’s your cousin, Ricky?” she asked. Immediately, the air in the room shifted.
“Oh, you know. He’s Ricky,” replied Miles, avoiding eye contact as he swirled his food around on the plate.
Ricky had been in and out of trouble throughout high school, but Jules had hoped he’d matured within the past decade and gotten his life together. Apparently not. Grandma Rosa, who’d been animated all throughout dinner, was suddenly silent, busying herself with refilling her wine glass.
Weird , Jules thought, but decided to not linger on the subject, quickly pivoting the conversation towards the marching band and their next home game.
After they had washed up and put the leftovers in takeaway containers to take to The Landing, Miles offered to go with her to help carry everything inside. Rosa gave Jules an enthusiastic shake of her head, and Jules accepted his offer.
They loaded the containers into his truck and started the quick ten-minute drive to the retirement home at the edge of town, riding in silence as the city streets and sidewalks gave way to plowed cornfields and long stretches of farmland. The air smelled like summer, sweet and thick but with that hint of manure all Midwest towns had. Normally, Jules didn’t like driving with the windows down because it blew her hair into her eyes, but she’d slicked her hair back into a bun at the nape of her neck while in the kitchen, so the breeze was nice on her face. Her feet ached slightly from all the cooking, but she felt the contentment that came with relaxing after a long day of hard work.
“It’s been a while since you were last back,” Miles said, more as a statement than a question.
Elbow propped in the open window, Jules confirmed, “Not since Grandpa Lou’s funeral two years ago.”
“I’m so sorry, Jules. I meant to say that the other night. He was a good man, and I know you two were close.”
“Thanks. We were.”
“Why haven’t you been back since? Two years is a long time.”
Hesitating, not sure if she should tell Miles the full truth about the visit with Luke, she replied softly, “It was a hard trip for many reasons. I guess I’ve just been trying to forget about it.”
The cab of Mile’s truck fell back into silence for a moment before she added, “My ex-fiancé, Luke, came with me. Seeing him here, around my family, made me realize some things about him and we broke up as soon as we got back to D.C.”
“That sounds rough,” was all Miles said, leaving space for her to continue or change the subject.
Jules hadn’t talked about what really happened to anyone. Just gave the simple explanation that they weren’t right for each other, which was the truth. But it was more than that, and she didn’t know how to put it into words.
“It was, but I’m glad it happened before we actually tied the knot. Saved me many unhappy years and a lot of money.”
“Even so, I’m sure it still hurt.”
“It did, especially when I realized at the funeral I didn’t want him there. It sounds awful, but I had a moment when I looked at him and all I could think was, ‘You don’t belong here.’ It’s hard to explain. I don’t really understand it myself, but I just knew it wasn’t right." She turned towards him, eyes heavy and cast down. “Maybe Grandpa Lou was trying to warn me from the beyond. That’d be just like him to do.”
Miles chuckled and continued driving until they pulled into the circular drive of the retirement home. Grandma Rosa must have called ahead because Val was waiting outside to greet them.
“You don’t know how happy you’re about to make these ladies on their bridge night,” joked Val, looking at the food as Jules and Miles carried it into the clubhouse.
She was right, it was bridge night at The Landing and a full table of women wearing their Sunday best rowdily clapped as they set the food down on a nearby buffet.
“I’ll be back sometime this week with more,” Jules promised Val as she walked them back out.
“You’re a good granddaughter. I know Rosa probably doesn’t say it often, but boy, howdy, does she love you! You’re all she ever talks about. To her, you hang the moon.”
Jules’ cheeks immediately flared, turning several shades of red. She was never good at receiving compliments. Looking at her feet, she mumbled a swift, “Thanks,” before climbing back into the truck.
Back home, Miles insisted on walking her to the door again. The sun was sliding fast behind the horizon, casting long dark shadows across the front lawn. The porch lights were on, welcoming them. At the door, they both lingered, waiting for words to find their way into the night.
Hands in his pockets, Miles looked directly at Jules. “He sounds like a weak man.”
“Who?”
“Luke. He should have fought for you. What a stupid man to let you go that easily.”
“He wasn’t weak or stupid,” Jules said in an almost whisper.
“Yes, he was. I’d know. I was, too.” Jules’ eyes flicked straight up to meet his. They held another long stare, warmth rippling through her body. She could hear her heart beating heavily and his breathing picked up pace.
Closing the space between them, he slid his hand gently up against her cheek, cupping her face in his hand. Instinctively, Jules closed her eyes as she tipped her head back, feeling the warmth of his lips meet hers. At first, the kiss was soft, probing. Neither of them sure. But after a few seconds, she wrapped her arms around his body, pulling him closer until their bodies were pressed against each other and the hesitation faded, leaving only passion and hunger. As the kiss deepened, Jules melted into him, feeling his strong chest muscles against her soft body. He tasted the same as he always had, like mint from the gum he often chewed. The kiss felt so familiar, yet entirely new at the same time; he’d grown into a man since the last time they did this. Time had been a kind teacher.
At the sound of her purse falling from her arm and dropping at her feet, Jules suddenly realized they were still on her grandma’s front porch. Pulling back from Miles, the cool air sucker-punched her body as her lips went numb, tingling where his just were.
“I’m sorry,” she stumbled, leaning down to grab her purse. “Thanks for fixing the fans and helping me drop off the food.”
Jules flung the door open and walked inside without turning back. Miles called her name, but she didn’t respond, just climbed the stairs up to her room. She needed to be alone. Needed some space to sort out her thoughts.
Sitting on the edge of her bed, Jules could hear the low rumble of Miles’ truck pulling away. Tears welled in her eyes, threatening to spill over for the first time since they laid her grandpa to rest. Although, this time, not entirely out of sadness.
Exhausted but mind racing, she tried to calm herself. Her entire body slumped, heavy like lead. It felt so good to be in his arms again, to feel him fit perfectly against her. For the briefest of moments, when their lips met, her mind stilled. If only she could be honest with him about what she did years ago, maybe he’d forgive her. Or just as likely, he’d never want to kiss her again.