Chapter 48
“Do you think this is too much butter?” I ask, holding up the skillet. There is far more than the cup that Alice’s recipe called for melted inside. So, I’m guessing the answer is yes.
The soft fragrances of onion, celery, garlic, and sage waft through the air as I swing around to show Claire the ratio of flavor base to melted margarine.
Knife poised in the air, she pauses work on cutting the bread loaf into tiny cubes and leans over. Her nose tips up, too, as she breathes in the savory stuffing base.
“Is there really such thing as too much butter?” she replies with another sniff.
“What would your grandmother say? It is her recipe.”
We both smile, knowing full well that Alice would never object to extra butter.
“Once the stuffing soaks overnight, are we putting it in the turkey?” I ask, returning the skillet to the burner and turning to face her again.
Claire’s face sours as she brings the knife down on the bread. “No,” she huffs. “Levi wants to deep fry the turkey outside in the driveway. Apparently that’s a thing now.”
“How is he even going to do that?”
“Mack put the idea in his head when we invited him. Apparently, he can bring the equipment from the farm.”
I frown. “That sounds dangerous.”
“Agreed.” She slices through the last bit of bread then dumps the squares into the nearby casserole dish. “They can ruin the meat all they want, but they aren’t getting near our carbs.”
“Amen to that.” I give the skillet one last shake then carry it across the kitchen to pour over the bread. “Speaking of carbs, should we start on the sweet potatoes or is that cutting it close to the new Friends episode tonight?”
Claire glances at the wall clock hanging by the phone. “I think we have time, but I also don’t want to miss it. The TV Guide said this episode is called The One with All the Thanksgivings. How perfect is that?”
“So perfect.” I flip off the burner and come over to lean against the counter beside her. “I’m going to miss this,” I whisper, nudging her shoulder with mine.
She nudges me back. “Me too.”
“Who is going to watch Friends with me every Thursday night?”
“Are you kidding? I’ll be back over here weekly for it.”
I turn to face her. “Really?”
“It’s going to be like I’m not even gone. To the point where you’re going to want to kick me out to be able to do Jake in the middle of the day,” she taunts with a wiggle of her eyebrows.
“Oh my gosh, I knew that was going to be brought back up!” I give her a playful shove.
Claire lets out a whoop in response as I’m saved by the phone ringing. “It’s probably him calling,” she teases, watching me hurry across the kitchen to answer.
“Hello?”
“Jake, Lucy is too busy for a booty call—” she shouts at the same time the voice on the line says, “Don’t talk about doing my brother!”
“Taylor?” I ask quickly, waving a hand at Claire whose eyes have widened. I think I catch her whisper awkward timing with a smirk. “How’s it going?”
“Apparently not as good as things in Ellicottville.” She laughs. “I was just calling to say I’m so excited to come to dinner tomorrow. Thank you for inviting me.”
“Of course.” I lean against the wall and twirl the phone cord around my index finger. “We miss you.”
“Honestly, I kind of miss it there too. Just please don’t tell my brother he was right.”
“Never,” I promise solemnly.
“Oh, but how casual is this Friendsgiving? Can I bring someone?”
“A date?”
She laughs. “Gosh, no. He’s like a second brother to me.”
“Sure, the more the merrier.”
“Thanks,” Taylor chirps happily. “Anything I can contribute to dinner?”
“Have anything you love to cook?”
“No.” She laughs again. “But I can bring the wine.”
“Deal.”
“How are the animals there?” she asks, a hint of longing in her tone.
“They’re good, it’s quiet right now after the wave of adoptions at the harvest event. The last puppy went home yesterday actually.”
“And Luna?”
“Maybe you can swing by and see her while you’re in town? You could stay, unless you have something in the city to get back to?”
“I do, actually, an interview at a shelter here.”
“Taylor! That is awesome.”
We spend another minute chatting about how she can prepare for the interview, then end the call, effectively dashing any hopes of getting started on sweet potatoes before Friends. Not that I mind, I really have missed Taylor.
In the meantime, Claire has put foil over the casserole dish and dropped it in the fridge, instead pulling out the cold pasta salad from the deli. I grab two forks and nod when she holds it up in question.
For a second, that familiar pang hits me once more. The one that’s been burrowed under my ribs since she announced she was leaving. We’re so in sync, I wonder if I’ll ever have this type of routine with anyone ever again.
But then Jake’s warm brown eyes and floppy hair and perfectly crooked smile flashes into my mind. And I think maybe I can after all.
As long as he doesn’t leave town.
The pang returns for a whole new reason, and I force it away by remembering his words from the other night, when we discussed his losing the bid.
I’d still have a reason to be here.
God, I hope it will be reason enough.
“What are we thinking for drinks? Maybe—” Claire starts as the phone rings again.
“Maybe Taylor forgot something.” I pick the handset up once more.
“Lucy Hart?” a brisk voice asks.
“This is she.”
“Wonderful, this is Melanie. From Whitcombe Gallery.”
“Oh, from the gallery,” I repeat for Claire’s awareness.
She pops a noodle in her mouth and watches me with undivided attention. As if my body language will tell her everything she needs to know about this call.
And maybe it will, considering I’ve gone eerily still. “What can I do for you, Melanie?”
“I am calling to tell you that we absolutely adore your new works. The photos just came in, and we are over the moon for them.”
“You like my new work?” My heart leaps in my throat as Claire punches a triumphant hand in the air.
“We love these paintings. We’re working to schedule their pick-up service now, I’ll let you know when we have the details.”
“Sure, yes. Sounds good.”
“But Lucy?”
I grip the phone so tight my knuckles turn white. “Yes?”
“What do you say we discuss signing you on as an exclusive, reoccurring artist for us?”
“Exclusive?”
This should be everything I’ve ever wanted. One of the most elite galleries in the country wants to stake their claim to me. But instead, there is a hollowness in place of my excitement.
“Yes, exclusive. We’ll make it worth your while, I assure you.”
I bite my lip and wait for the joy to return. But instead, I just feel a nagging tug for something other than this. “Can I get back you about that?” I ask.
“Oh, okay,” Melanie replies, clearly surprised. “We’ll talk next week.”
“Next week,” I agree.
If I’m being honest, I’m a little surprised by my reaction too. Maybe the seasons aren’t the only thing changing.