11. Hungry Boys
Hungry Boys
Sheridan
Where do I meet Viola? We set a time and sort of a place, but did she literally mean to meet her in the garden? Or should I knock on the front door?
You don’t knock on doors at hotels.
But this place doesn’t look like a hotel, even though it has to be one…or maybe a museum. Either way, there would be a sign, right?
Showing up to bake for a child shouldn’t be this difficult.
The garden seems like—
The front door opens, and Viola steps out. “There you are. Right on time.”
What do I say? I’m not usually a prompt person, but my morning run was done, and all I was doing was staring at the clock. “Morning.”
“Morning. Well, don’t you look pretty. Come on in. We’ll talk while we cook.”
Good. Give me something to do so I don’t keep overthinking the kiss from yesterday.
“Sounds good.” I follow her inside the door and freeze.
This feels like a home. An insanely fancy home.
One that’s owned by a billionaire. If I’m right and those are originals, there are tens of millions sitting on one foyer wall alone.
A housekeeper.
Viola must be the housekeeper for a rich person.
“Can I take your coat?”
No, I almost snap. “No, thank you. I tend to get very cold.”
She nods and starts walking. “Are you thin-blooded?”
Is that a polite way of asking if I’m weak, which, to be fair, I feel often? “Nah, I’m just from the South. Dealing with a northern winter is definitely not something I’m used to.”
“You didn’t seem cold the other day.”
“Exercise will do that.” I try not to gape at the furnishings as we walk through the house. Going from knowing not one billionaire to visiting the homes of two within a week seems wild.
“You must run often.”
Whenever I’m feeling stressed. “Almost every day.”
“Wow. My grandkids are active like that. I’m more of a homebody myself. All the exercise I get comes from cooking. Feeding my family makes me happy.”
“It’s one of the best ways of showing people that you care.” And the cheapest. “So what are we making for your grandson today?”
“I was thinking about a steak and some pastina, but I don’t know how easy that would be to travel with.”
What kid loves steak? “What about some cookies or cupcakes?”
“Good idea. That boy loves sweets.” Her face falls a little bit. “But I’m worried his doctors will want him to eat super healthy.”
“So let’s do both. Something healthy and something decadent.” Keeping the steak warm for transport might be an issue. “How far away is his rehab center?”
“The ride is going to take us about thirty to forty minutes.”
Hmmm. “If we pack it with something really hot, it should stay good for that long. Unless he likes it rare.”
“No.” She shakes her head. “Medium rare. And we can pack it with the pastina…it’s chicken noodle soup.”
“Perfect. Do you think your grandson would like some cheesy biscuits with his chicken soup?”
Viola’s face lights up. “He’d love them. Do you make cookies or brownies by chance?”
“Sure do, but have you ever had a blondie?”
She shakes her head.
“They’re one of my specialties. All the nurses at the home love them.”
“Let’s get cooking.”
***
Talking and cooking with Viola are the most relaxing things I’ve done in ages. It’s like one of those dream days when Grammie was happy in the kitchen teaching me to cook.
Those days were rare…but they are some of the best memories I have.
Viola dumps some flour into her bowl and slides it over to me. “So what do you do other than run?”
“Work. I’m basically boring. If I wasn’t visiting a friend, I’m a stick-in-the-mud.”
She laughs. “I doubt that.”
The door to the kitchen slams open, and a teenage boy rushes in. “Nonna, I’m starving.”
Watching a woman flip like a switch is wild. Viola’s smile changes right to a doting grandmother in the blink of an eye. “We can’t have that. What would you like to eat, Daire?”
The boy doesn’t even blink twice that there is a stranger in his kitchen. He walks straight over to hug his grandmother.
He looks nothing like her. From his copper locks to his pale white skin, it’s hard to believe they’re related at all.
“I’m going to eat at Milia’s, so maybe something light. Just to tide me over.” He steps back. “Maybe a sandwich.”
That’s light?
“Coming right up. Do you want some fried eggs on the sandwich?”
Daire considers it for a long moment. “Maybe. And lots of cheese.”
“Why don’t you go make a bag of snacks for the two of you to have later?” Viola places a frying pan on the massive stove. It’s one of those fancy ones with a billion burners, a grill top, and colorful knobs.
“Good idea.” He walks over to the drawer by where I’m standing and stops to look me up and down, not in the stranger danger way, more like hello beautiful. “Are you new around here?”
“Daire, meet my friend Sheridan. She’s coming with me today to visit your brother.”
“Ohhh.” The boy nods. “Makes sense. Does this mean she can cook?”
“I don’t know. Why don’t you come back in an hour and try some of my blondies.” Why did I say that? Like I care if a kid thinks I can’t cook.
“Can’t. But you can save me one. The amount you’re making, Gabe won’t be able to eat them all.”
“These are bribes for the nursing staff. Your brother could hardly eat this many.”
Daire reaches across the bar for two apples and bananas from a massive bowl of fruit. “Eh, he could if he tried.”
No way could a boy eat all this. Though based on Daire’s light snack before breakfast…I wouldn’t doubt Gabe would give it a good try.
A few minutes and a full bag later, Daire nabs his sandwich and kisses his grandmother. “Thanks, Nonna. See you at dinner.”
Viola walks over to the pressure cooker that just finished and opens the top, releasing the most delightful scent of chicken soup. “Now to grind it up.”
“What?”
“You haven’t had pastina before, have you?”
Never heard of it, let alone eaten it. “Nope.”
“Just wait. You’re in for a treat.” She gets an immersion blender out of the closet.
“What smells so good?” another teenage boy asks as he opens the kitchen door.
“Morning, Nonna.” He looks nothing like the redhead, but they seem to be a similar age.
His brown, wavy hair has streaks of almost auburn highlights and a fair-skinned but not ghost-like complexion, it’s hard to believe they’re brothers.
What if they aren’t? Lots of women have the neighborhood kids call them grandma. Nonna might be a term of endearment like that. Viola is certainly warm and welcoming enough to adopt all the kids in the neighborhood.
“Morning, Lorcan. How are you this morning?”
The boy walks up to his grandmother, but he keeps his eyes on me. “Tired. I stayed up too late studying.”
She wraps her arms around him, hugging him like I used to dream my grandmother would hug me, but she never did. “You work too hard. You’re young. You need to have fun.”
The boy shakes his head but continues staring at me. “You’re pretty.”
That sounded more like an accusation than a compliment. “Thank you.” I think.
“Why are you here?”
“She’s coming with me to visit your brother.”
“Ahhhh. That explains it.”
That explains nothing, but he’s a bit less hostile-looking.
“Would you like something to eat?” Viola steps back. “I could make you an egg sandwich.”
Lorcan shakes his head. “I’m too tired to eat. I’m just here for a cup of coffee.”
“A growing boy needs something in his body. At least take some biscotti from the jar.” She nudges him towards it.
“All right. But save me some pastina for lunch.”
“Are you feeling bad?”
“No.”
“Then all of this is for your brother. I’ll make something for you when I get home.”
Lorcan nods. “Is Gabe going to come home soon?”
“Not for a few months.”
The boy nods as he reaches for a cup. “Maybe I’ll ask McGee to drive me up this weekend.”
“McGee is coming home this weekend?”
“Nope. I think he’s somewhere in northern Africa, but he will if I ask him to.”
“Ask your father or grandfather first.”
“Will do, Nonna.” He pours himself a massive cup of black coffee and sets three biscotti on top before kissing Viola’s cheek and walking out of the room.
“Aren’t my grandsons the sweetest boys?” She sighs.
That’s probably because they have a kind grandmother. “They are. I can’t wait to meet Gabe.” Oddly, that’s the truth. Taking the risk to help a crying woman has turned into a very nice morning.
***
“And I think we’re done.” Viola sets the pan of cooked rib eyes in the hot food cooler.
It boggles my mind just how much food she has packed to visit one little boy. She really took to heart my suggestion to feed the staff.
The kitchen door pops open, and a silver fox walks in. This guy is FINE with gray at his temples and in his beard. For his age, which might be mid-fifties or so, he’s fit with muscles on his muscles. I would be drooling if he wasn’t probably close to double my age.
“Ma, I heard you were going to visit Gabe.”
“That’s right.” Viola walks up to him, and he kisses her cheek. They aren’t as close as the kids. “Sheridan and I are going to visit him.”
The man finally notices me, and I’m not sure that’s a good thing.
Just like the boys, who definitely don’t look like they’re related to this swarthy Italian man, he looks me up and down slowly. Taking stock of every detail before his gaze stops on my face. “Nice to meet you, Sheridan. I’m Gabe’s father, Antonio.” He walks over and holds out a hand.
I take it, meeting his eyes as I give him a firm shake. My brother taught me as he was learning to do it himself, and the skill kind of stuck. “Nice to meet you.”
“Do you two need a ride? I can get my keys and drive you. Or is Asher taking you?”
“Neither.” Viola smiles. “We’re going by chopper. Which should be in the backyard waiting for us. Would you mind carrying the coolers out?”
Chopper? She has a helicopter in the backyard waiting to pick us up to take us to visit her grandson. We’re standing in a mansion where her grandsons came in and had breakfast. But her clothing and engagement ring are so simple…modest. That diamond isn’t even a carat. “You live here?”
“Of course I do. Where else would I live but my home?”
This monstrosity is a home.
Who’s the billionaire? The words almost slip out of my mouth, but I manage not to embarrass myself any more.
Is anything in this world what I think it is anymore?
“You ready, Sheridan?” Viola half-turns to ask me.
No, but I will be anyway. “Sure.”