CHAPTER SIX
W hen Trevor was a boy , one of his earliest memories was made in this very kitchen. His father, fresh off a double shift and as ravenous as a racehorse, welcomed him and his younger sister to this sanctuary by the stove. Escorting Daisy away to put up her feet, he sat both kids down and shared their culinary adventure for the day.
“You know, kiddos?” he asked, his smile popping beneath a week’s worth of stubble.
“What?” Trevor and Jessie had giggled, their toes a foot off the floor.
“When I was at the station this weekend, all I thought about was ...”—he hesitated for effect, holding his hands up as if to keep them in place—“breakfast!”
Jessie, being four at the time, laughed like he’d told the funniest joke ever heard. “But, Daddy, it’s suppertime.” She pointed out the kitchen window, where the sun had dipped below the tree line. A cozy purple hue filtered through the curtains.
Nick held up his finger, his grin infectious. “Yes, baby girl, but do you know what else?” Jessie shook her head, her reddish curls bouncing on her cheeks. “We’re here, at home, and we can make up any rules we want.”
Trevor was incredulous, as earlier that day his mother had made him do all his math homework before he watched his cartoons. “No way,” he said, crossing his arms over his tiny torso.
“Yes way.” Nick ruffled his son’s floppy hair. “Daddy is making the rules tonight.” He lowered his voice. “Don’t tell Momma.”
Both kids tittered while their father went to work. He pulled out every bowl, plate, whisk, and canister their kitchen held, lining everything up on the counter. Just as he was about to start cracking eggs, he slapped his forehead.
“What is it, Daddy?” Jessie had asked, fidgeting with excitement from her perch.
“I forgot my lucky apron, and you kids forgot to wash your hands.” He helped both kids off their stools and ushered them down to the bathroom so as not to disturb his prep work. By the time Trevor and Jessie returned, their father was clad in his signature Kiss the Cook apron their mother had given him the Christmas before.
“Can we help?” Trevor asked after he helped Jessie back onto her seat. He took a moment to ensure she wouldn’t wobble off, as she tended to do when excited.
His father patted his shoulder and sighed. “Good boy, Trevor. It’s important to look out for the women in your life. Don’t forget that, son.”
Trevor had covered his heart with his hand and nodded, as if taking an oath. “I promise, Daddy.”
Jessie, being Jessie, ruined the moment with a high-pitched squeal. “Can we please start cookin’?” Her tiny hands were clasped in front of her in prayer. “I’m about to faint.”
Nick tossed his head back and laughed before leaning down to kiss his daughter’s cheek. “Well, we can’t have that. Who wants to crack eggs? And who wants to measure the flour?”
Jessie was given flour duty, a task that had rendered her reminiscent of Al Pacino in Scarface . Nick had dusted a flour smudge from her cheek as he took the bowl.
Trevor had focused all his efforts on perfectly cracking a dozen eggs into two bowls. “How are these, Daddy?” he asked, always eager to please his old man.
Nick nodded and gently patted his son’s back. “Damn near perfect. Good work.”
“What are we making?” Jessie asked, bouncing her feet against the stool legs. Any other time Trevor would have told his sister to knock it off, but then he didn’t care. They cherished those moments, the three of them cooking something delicious.
“Sausage gravy and scrambled eggs.”
“Yummy!” the children sang in unison.
“And pancakes with chocolate chips!” Nick did jazz hands, and Jessie almost fell off her stool as she screamed in delight.
Back in that day, Nick was a low man on the roster at the fire station. He served as cook most of the time, making things like soup, chili, and hot dogs. For some reason, the men rarely wanted breakfast for dinner, Nick’s absolute favorite. After long or taxing shifts, he’d come home and scoop up his children to make hot cakes, eggs, and bacon.
Those memories were some of Trevor’s favorites, and when the world got a little too hard to handle, he fell back into those familiar patterns.
Back in the present, he surveyed the mess he’d already made. There was a small part of him that wished Jessie was in town to help him make breakfast for an army, but he remembered who was going to walk through that door. He wondered what Whitney thought of two breakfasts in one day? It was nonsense, but Trevor saw this as a test. Granted, she was all but a stranger, but he was eager to see her thoughts on heavy Southern breakfasts.
Ever since he left the station, he was beside himself. No, he didn’t want Virginia back, of that he was certain. It was more than that; this feeling of inadequacy. He wasn’t enough for Virginia, and that stung. It stung even more that freaking Hastings put that gawdy ring on her finger. Hastings who didn’t know the difference between a rack hose and a double jacket fire hose. Idiot.
Thinking about that lugworm caused Trevor to crack an egg too forcefully and the shell splintered into the bowl. Muffling a curse, he sifted out the shells and started again. He wanted to channel his father right now; wanted to feel the calm that came with mixing pancake batter in the dwindling daylight. If he closed his eyes, he almost heard the old man humming a nameless tune. God, he missed his father.
Grief was positively a bitch. Two years had certainly dulled some of the pain, lessened the sharpness that came with loss. At the beginning, Trevor couldn’t even eat, let alone fathom making pancakes and cooking. Yet, as the days passed, his mother reminded them all that Nick would have hated to watch his favorite people wither away. He was a man of action, a man who loved to be out in the world and soaking up every opportunity to have fun.
So, Trevor started small and ate one meal a day. They weren’t grand feasts, but he’d force himself to pull out a bag of salad mix or dice up some fruit, anything to fuel his body. Javi and Smithy used to come by his place nearly every day after work for a month with pizzas, wings, or takeout from The Pecan Pit.
Unfortunately, that was also the time Jessie went MIA. He couldn’t blame his sister, really. She was always a wanderer, and the loss of their father had been too much to take. They weren’t prepared to bury their father before he reached his sixties, before his hair went fully gray and he collected his first Social Security check.
Trevor missed Jessie, nearly as much as his father, but he knew she’d come back when she was ready. The harder he and Daisy pushed, the longer she’d stay gone. Trevor bided his time and always made an extra pair of hotcakes, just in case she decided to come home.
Lost in memories of happier times, Trevor hadn’t noticed the sun dipping lower in the sky. Whitney and his mother had been gone most of the day, and he wondered how they were fairing. By the time he got the biscuits out of the oven, the griddle was ready for pancakes.
The deadbolt turned and the rattling of keys echoed into the kitchen. “Hello?” his mother’s voice rang out from the hallway, and Trevor’s shoulders relaxed a tad. Yes, he was a grown man, but seeing his momma never got old.
“In here,” he shouted over his shoulder. He carefully dropped a blob of butter to the griddle and ladled on the first round of hotcakes.
Daisy was clad in her straw hat, her hair sticking out from under the brim. “Well, I’ll tell you what. Did we stumble into an IHOP?” Her voice was light and teasing, but Trevor knew she understood the need to cook breakfast in the evening. She’d lived through countless nights of French toast under the moon and never questioned the Mays clan when breakfast was served.
Whitney followed Daisy into the kitchen, her gorgeous eyes wide at the scene in front of her. “Oh my gosh,” she exhaled, snagging Trevor’s gaze. “Are you expecting company?”
“Yes, and they just arrived.” He rummaged in the drawer for a spatula. “You ladies wash up, and I’ll holler when it’s ready.”
Daisy studied the scene, frowning. “Whitney, sugar, you wash up first. I need a minute.” A look exchanged between the women that made Trevor nervous.
“Sure thing, but I want to help when I’m back,” Whitney said over her shoulder.
Trevor turned the heat down on his pan and faced Daisy, arms crossed over his chest. “Spill it, Momma.”
Gesturing around the messy kitchen, she asked, “I take it you’re aware of a certain Pinegrove engagement?”
Trevor scoffed. “You could say that.”
Her frown slid away, concern replacing her anger. “I should have assumed as much as soon as I smelled the biscuits from the driveway.” She reached out and took a biscuit, pinching off a bite. “Did it help?”
Trevor’s shoulders slumped and he dropped his arms to his sides. “A little. Nothing a night of binge eating and talking with you girls won’t fix.”
Daisy cocked her head to the side, chewing the rest of her biscuit in silence.
“What is it?”
“I’m going out to see Joan and Kim. You two stay, eat, and get to know each other.”
Whitney rejoined them, her hair pulled back, her face scrubbed free of makeup. Her complexion was smooth as silk, and Trevor had to ball his fists to stop from reaching out and trailing a finger over the dips and swells of her cheeks.
“What can I help with?” she asked, eyes pinging back and forth between mother and son.
“You can help my son with the fruit salad. I’m going to meet a couple of friends for dinner.”
Whitney’s eyes widened, but she recovered quickly. “Oh, you’re not staying?”
Trevor couldn’t figure out if she was relieved or petrified at this development. Perhaps the plan of a night alone with a strange man wasn’t her idea of a good time. He could hardly blame her.
“I think it’s high time you kids got to know each other.”
Whitney and Trevor looked at each other, both unsure where Daisy was going.
“You suddenly have an issue with biscuits for dinner?” Trevor asked.
“Not at all, sugar. It’s just that Joan and Kim texted, and they invited me to supper.”
This was quite possible, as Daisy often shared meals with her girlfriends, but Trevor thought it was all a little too convenient. Judging from Whitney’s confusion, he wasn’t alone.
“Don’t worry, sugar. Kim said she’s ready for you tomorrow if you want to take her up on her offer.”
“Offer?” Trevor was even more confused, and now Whitney looked faint.
Resting a hand over her neck, Whitney argued, “But I haven’t made a decision.”
Daisy shook away her concern. “And you don’t have to now. Just know that the spot is yours if you want it.” She flapped her hand in the air, backing away toward the door. “I need to get going.” Stepping back a few more paces, she said, “If you don’t mind, Gus still needs a walk. It’s a gorgeous night, maybe you two could take him out after supper? Talk about job offers, life, whatever.” She winked at her son, although Whitney still struggled to keep up.
Trevor chuckled, watching his momma bound away faster than a jack rabbit. “Subtle as a freight train, Momma.”
Trevor was dying to get to the bottom of this discussion, but Gus interrupted. Now that the kitchen was lively, the hound joined the activity, setting up in the corner ready for something to fall to the floor. He barked twice to get Trevor’s attention, who mindlessly tossed a burnt corner of a biscuit.
“You mind a little light chopping, Whitney?” Trevor asked, motioning with his elbow toward a stack of fruit.
Shaking her head, Whitney helped herself to a chef’s knife and cutting board and carefully diced an apple, banana, and strawberries into a bowl. Trevor was about to suggest adding a touch of honey when she pulled the bottle over and drizzled it onto the fruit. “Hope you don’t mind a little added sweetness,” she said, offering him a smile that melted butter faster than his griddle.
Trevor had to clear the lump in his throat before answering. “Not at all. In fact, the sweeter the better.”
Whitney’s cheeks flushed as she placed the bowl on the table. “What else can I help with?”
Trevor pointed to the fridge with his spatula. “Can you get out the pitcher of tea and that slab of bacon?”
“Absolutely.” She retrieved everything and went to work finding glasses. She poured two healthy portions of tea before snagging a frying pan and cooking the bacon.
For a moment, the only sounds heard in the kitchen were sizzling pork fat and the clock over the stove ticking away. Horrendously out of practice with women, Trevor struggled to start the conversation up again.
“You and Momma do anything wild today?” he asked, flipping a pancake and missing the edge of the griddle. The poor little cake went from a perfect circle to a lumpy pile in an instant. The reject received the honor of being another snack for Gus.
Trevor whistled for the old hound, who hadn’t gotten far. Gus sauntered over, ears dragging on the floor and jowls hanging damn near as low. He snarfed up the misshapen pancake and turned his attention to Whitney and the growing pile of cooked bacon.
“Can I?” she asked, holding up half a slice. Trevor nodded, his lips quirking up in a smirk. Whitney got down on her knees and fed the bacon to Gus, rubbing his back and cooing words of encouragement like the dog didn’t beg for scraps every day.
When Gus was done with his treats, he shamelessly rolled over for belly rubs. Whitney happily obliged, causing his rear legs to twitch in delight. Trevor couldn’t lie to himself; he’d kill for merely one minute of that type of bliss with Whitney. Any attention she shared was a gift, and he prayed he found a way to be less awkward; find a way to be like his old self.
Sensing his moment in the sun was over, Gus sneezed and strode back to his doggy bed under the bay window. He snuffled into the pillow and was asleep before they sat for supper.
“Whitney, breakfast is served.” He was still so raw from Virginia’s news, but having Whitney as his dining companion was exactly what he needed.
“This is so fun, thank you.” Whitney beamed as she sipped from her sweet tea. “When I was a girl, my parents did breakfast for dinner sometimes. It’s always a treat.” She fixed herself a biscuit, sliding the gravy bowl toward him.
For the first few minutes of dinner, the pair discussed safe topics like their favorite breakfast foods. Dangerous topics like feelings and job offers stayed in the periphery, much like a sleeping basset hound. Trevor loved sharing a meal with anyone, since living alone meant his company was usually whatever was playing on ESPN.
Whitney praised everything she ate, giving Trevor the confidence boost he’d been missing. “How do you get your biscuits so fluffy?”
Trevor opened his mouth to share the recipe, to go over the pros and cons of sifting flour and baking powder. But when his eyes locked onto her gray gaze, he couldn’t pretend he wasn’t a mess. Biscuit measurements were not enough right now; he was finished with polite conversation.
There was no earthy reason for feeling this way, but Trevor knew he could talk to Whitney—share thoughts and frustrations that kept zipping through his addled brain. “I’m assuming you met my ex today,” he said, going for broke.
Whitney’s fork clattered to her plate. “Um, yes.” She hastily picked up the utensil and nearly choked on the bite of pancake. “I’m so sorry.”
Her apology was barely heard over the hammering of his heart. He hated even bringing Virginia into any conversation. Anything associated with Virginia felt tainted, rusted over with bitterness. Whitney was like a breath of fresh air, and Trevor wanted to breathe her in and be like his old self.
“No need to apologize,” he said, reaching out to cover her hand. Despite the warm kitchen, Whtiney’s hand was cool and smooth, like the rocks he used to snatch from the creek as a boy. Their eyes locked for a moment before they focused on the feast between them. “Anyway,” he said with a chuckle. “It’s in the past, and I really don’t have feelings for Virginia anymore. I’m more pissed off she doesn’t see how this looks, how it makes me feel.” Striving to lighten the mood, he asked, “Can you pass the syrup, please?”
Whitney handed him the bottle, and their fingers grazed. The blush on her cheeks became nuclear, and Trevor saved that little tidbit for later. She was clearly as affected by him as he was by her, and that did funny things to his belly.
Whitney looked like she was going to say something else on the matter of their love lives, but Trevor interrupted. “What else happened in town? You two were gone long enough that more than clothing was to blame. What was that offer Momma mentioned?”
Whitney nibbled on her lip, drawing his attention to how kissable her mouth was. Trevor wanted to close the distance and taste the syrup from her lips, wanted to ...
“Kim offered me a job at her boutique.”
“Oh wow, that’s great! Right? I mean, you’re considering it?”
Trevor was intrigued. The woman had only been in town one day, and he didn’t realize she was thinking of staying. That notion brought the biggest smile to his face. He wasn’t sure what he was feeling for Whitney, but he was pleased to think she might be sticking around after the fireworks burned out.
Whitney’s finger trailed over the condensation on her glass of tea, her eyes slightly unfocused. “I’m thinking about it, but there’s a lot of other things to consider.”
“Such as?”
“I don’t live here, Trevor. My life is back in Savannah, with my sister.”
Trevor had a lot of questions about this sister of hers, including Whitney’s need to stay by her side. But his musings were put on hold when Gus barked three times and plopped himself by the door. The old hound had about five minutes before he made a mess Trevor would like to avoid. “Tell you what—how about we discuss job offers while we take Gus out for his walk?”
Quickly, Trevor gathered the dishes and put everything in the sink. Whitney put away the butter and syrup before tugging her sneakers back on her feet. Gus, already hearing the W word, thwapped his tail against the wall and whimpered until they joined him.
Trevor grabbed Gus’s leash on the way out of the kitchen, whistling for the hound. “C’mon, Gussy. Walkies.”
As they stepped into the cooling evening of summer, Whitney by his side and Gus dragging them ahead, Trevor could get used to this. This was the life he’d wanted with Virginia, and he didn’t realize how much he’d mourned that loss until he had a chance at it again. Whitney was still a mystery to him, but Trevor was ready and willing to get some answers.
His first question—would she be staying in Pinegrove?