Chapter 6
HOPPER
The house smelled delicious. It always did on Thanksgiving. Maggie put together a meal that would have made my mother proud, though it was never quite the same.
My mom, when she was still alive, went all out for the holidays. She didn’t just roast a turkey and make mac and cheese good enough to make my father cry. She also decorated beautifully, adding special touches to each dish, and made sure every holiday was a special memory.
I entered through the back door, stomping my feet to get rid of the snow that had dusted the ground overnight, then stripped off my coat and hung it up. I’d kept busy with tree farm business while Noel planned his Thanksgiving meal, which somehow included goat cheese. Shudder.
Judging by the delicious smells, Maggie had ensured we’d get a damn good turkey and some mashed potatoes, at least. Poor Ed would be missing out on that stellar gravy of hers.
I entered the formal dining room and stopped dead, stunned.
The table was set with porcelain dishes I’d never seen before in a delicate eggshell blue.
A large cornucopia overflowed with berries and nuts in the center of the table, and at each place setting, an orange fabric napkin was folded into the shape of a turkey.
It was adorable. Just the sort of thing Mom would have loved.
Glazed carrots rested on a platter with tiny little acorns drawn in dark sauce along the outside edge.
Next to them, sweet potatoes were topped with roasted chestnuts.
All the Thanksgiving standards were here: mashed potatoes, green bean casserole, and dinner rolls.
But somehow, they all looked magazine-worthy, their plating perfect, with little touches that made them look extra special.
Little sprigs of parsley or wedges of lemon as garnish, artful positioning of the food, and sauce drizzled just so.
There were several additions that were less of a staple, as well.
A tray of bruschetta topped with cream and cranberry tempted me into sneaking a bite before dinner was served.
I tossed it into my mouth and damn near expired on the spot. Creamy sweet cheese, tart cranberry, a hint of smoky spice from the jalapeno I didn’t spot, and just the right amount of crunch. It was incredible.
I ate it, doing a bad job of muffling my moan of pleasure.
Noel stepped into the kitchen doorway, eyes flicking from the tray to the crumbs I was wiping out of my beard.
“Wha?” I mumbled, mouth full, already reaching for a second appetizer.
His lips twitched into a smug smile. “Enjoying the appetizer? I believe you wrinkled your nose at my purchase of goat cheese.”
I looked down at the snack in my hand. “Goat cheese tastes like this?”
“You’re a farm boy. Shouldn’t you already know this?”
He returned to the kitchen before I could find an answer. True, I was a farm boy. I’d never cared for goat’s milk. I assumed the same would be true for goat cheese. It wasn’t as if I’d had a lot of occasion to eat the stuff.
I crammed another piece of heaven in my mouth and crunched down happily. I’d eat as much as I could get away with today. Who knew when I’d ever have it again? It didn’t take a genius to figure out that was Noel’s contribution, not Maggie’s.
Ed shuffled in and pulled out a chair to sit down. “How much of this do you reckon they’ll let me eat?”
“I don’t know. Better sneak some while they’re not looking.”
“I heard that!” Maggie called.
She stepped out of the kitchen with a plate already prepared. It looked like he’d gotten small servings of whipped potatoes, sweet potatoes, cranberry sauce, stuffing…
“You’ll get some turkey, too, when it’s ready.” She set it in front of him with a flourish. “These are all heart-healthy recipes, some of it made just for you.”
He sighed. “Should have known it looked too good to be true.”
She slapped his shoulder playfully. “You don’t know that until you try it! Noel’s been at work since 5 a.m., so you’ll be thankful for him on Thanksgiving and clean your plate!”
He cowered as if she’d hurt him. “Geez, woman, no need to get violent! I’ll be good!”
She laughed and shook her head. “Hopper, keep him in line.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
I snuck one more bruschetta and set it on Ed’s tray. “You shouldn’t miss out on your son’s true genius.”
I winked and ambled over to the kitchen. It was best not to stick around the scene once you’d committed a crime.
For a minute, I just stared. Noel was wearing an apron that read Kiss the Cook. Tempting. Very tempting. If only the cook didn’t hate me.
He stirred the gravy, a flush in his cheeks from the heat of the stove, but otherwise, he was pristine. Not a single hair out of place. No smears of flour or other ingredients. Not even a stain on his white apron.
“Check the pie in the oven,” he told his mom. “It should be done.”
“But the timer hasn’t even—”
Beep.
She laughed. “I don’t know how you do that.”
“Lots of practice,” he said, sounding more modest than I would have expected.
“But we’ve got a whole Thanksgiving meal going.”
He nodded. “I manage a kitchen at a restaurant. There are half a dozen things happening at any one time. It’s a learned skill.” He smiled. “But none of my sous chefs are as good as you.”
“Oh, I’m sure,” she said with a disbelieving chuckle.
“I’m serious,” he said with a smile that lightened his whole face. “You haven’t argued with me once.”
“Well, just wait,” she said, her voice muffled by the oven as she pulled out the pie and set it on the stovetop to the side of the gravy he was preparing. “You’ll start sniping with Hopper again, and then I’ll have to break out the Mom voice.”
“The man just gets under my skin. Why isn’t he at home with his own family?”
“Noel,” she chastised gently. “Has it occurred to you he doesn’t have that option?”
“What?” He sounded startled. “But his dad…”
“He’ll join us if he’s up to it,” she said. “You know Hopper lost his mom years ago, honey. It’s just the two of them now.”
“Oh, I—”
I cleared my throat before Noel could say what he really thought about me and my dad begging for scraps at the Grisold table. Jesus. No wonder he thought I was an interloper. I was.
“You all need me to carve the turkey?” I asked loudly.
Noel jumped, finally sloshing some gravy out of the pan with a sizzle. Ha. He wasn’t perfect, after all. He grabbed a tea towel and mopped it up.
“I can do it.”
“You’ve been going all day, Noel. Let him do it.” She smiled at me. “Hopper always carves for us. It’s tradition. Right, sweetie?”
My throat tightened. In the past, I’d believed that. I’d carved the turkey year after year, thinking that Maggie needed me to help out. Now, I was beginning to see I was the one who’d needed her and Ed.
She was trying to take care of me still.
“Right,” I said gruffly. “But if Noel wants to do it…”
“It’s fine,” Noel said. “Knock yourself out, big guy. Just don’t ruin my bird.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” I murmured.
Maggie carried out the pie while Noel poured the gravy into a dish. I opened a cabinet to withdraw a cutting board, along with the carving fork and knife.
Noel left me to it, and I made fast work of slicing up the turkey and transferring a bit of white and dark meat to a serving dish.
When I joined them in the dining room, everyone was seated. I set the platter of meat in the center of the table, then took my place across from Noel.
“Before we start, I’d like to just tell you what everything is,” he said.
I rolled my eyes. Here we go. The hoity-toity chef routine. Like I couldn’t see that there were mashed potatoes in the bowl in front of me?
“I took a few liberties with some of the dishes,” he said.
I listened, taken aback, as he went through the lineup. Not just mashed potatoes, but truffle-infused mashed potatoes. Heart-healthy stuffing with pears, onions, and walnuts. Honey-baked sweet potatoes. The list went on…
At first, I was a little miffed. He’d messed with a lot of traditional recipes.
But many of them were adjusted so his father could enjoy them as well.
And even the ones that weren’t changed to be heart healthy…
well, it was tough to complain once I tried them, and every single one was mouthwateringly delicious.
He’d taken all our Thanksgiving favorites and somehow…made them better.
I took a bite of the truffle potatoes Noel had prepared for everyone but his father, savoring the earthy flavor, then some of that stuffing with the pears, which was just the right balance of sweet and savory, and looked at Noel with new eyes.
He wasn’t just a cook, some guy who could run a diner in Riverton or Granville.
He had a rare talent. I hadn’t grasped it before. Couldn’t have. There was cooking, and then there was…
Art on a plate.
“You’re quiet,” Noel said about halfway through the meal. “Do you not like it?” He pushed his chair back. “I made some backup mashed potatoes, with just butter and cream—”
“You made all this, plus backups?”
He colored a little. “Thanksgiving is so traditional.” He glanced at everyone around the table. “I didn’t want to ruin anyone’s meal.”
“Oh, honey, it’s all really wonderful.” She looked at her husband. “Right, Ed?”
He nodded. “This stuff you made just for me is pretty good. Different, but good.” He held up a spoonful of what looked like whipped potato. “I don’t know what it is, but…”
Noel’s lips twitched. “Those are whipped turnips.”
“Seriously?” His dad looked down at his plate, betrayed. “It just tastes like peppery potatoes.”
Noel chuckled. “They’re quite good in the right recipes. No one gives turnips their due.”
“I guess not.”
He glanced at me, a wary expression on his face. “What about you, Hopper? Would you rather I brought out some of the more traditional recipes instead?”
I could tell he expected me to say yes. Maybe because he thought I’d relish the chance to criticize him, or maybe because he didn’t think my palate could appreciate the difference.
But I wasn’t going to give him that satisfaction.
“Why would I want anything but the best, Noel?” I asked. “I do have some taste.”
His eyes widened a fraction, and pink seeped into his cheeks. Could it be that Noel Grisold was actually flattered by something I’d said?
Well, stranger things had happened.
I took another bite of truffle-infused mashed potatoes and tried not to think about how my father had never shown up.
I might not have my own family, as Noel had put it. Or my own home. But I had my pride, and I refused to show just how lonely I felt for the first time as I sat with the Grisolds and saw the love shining in their eyes for their son.
I really hadn’t ever intended to take his place, but maybe…some part of me had cast myself in the role. It was a lie, though.
This was Noel’s family.
Not mine.