Chapter 9 #2
She prepared the coffee while he plated their meal.
They talked throughout their leisurely breakfast, and Layne was relaxed in his company.
It was as if they had known each other for years.
She wasn’t a believer in past lives, but if she had been, she decided Keaton and she had known one another very well.
She also respected the fact that he had turned down her offer of having sex.
She couldn’t think of a single guy who would’ve done so, but he knew how raw she was emotionally and was giving her time to heal.
That spoke volumes about his character. He may have had a rough upbringing, but somewhere along the way, Keaton had molded himself into a man of principle.
“I’ll let you clean this up while I jump in the shower. Then it’ll be time for your cooking lesson.”
Thoughts of him naked in the shower danced in her head, and Layne forced them aside. “Okay.”
“I’ll meet you back here in twenty minutes. And don’t put those iron skillets in the dishwasher.”
“I may not know how to cook, but I do know that iron skillets are seasoned and never see the inside of a dishwasher. Go, Keaton. You can trust me.”
Their gazes met. “I already do,” he said.
Layne cleaned the kitchen and then sat at the table, scrolling through her phone and seeing what little email she had.
During her working days, she received well over a hundred emails each day, even on weekends.
She no longer had that account, though, and merely checked her personal one.
Most of it were things she immediately deleted.
One email bore Jeremy’s address, however.
She had blocked him on her phone and social media accounts, but she hadn’t thought to do so with email.
Layne decided that she wasn’t up to reading any diatribe he had sent.
She didn’t delete it, though, thinking she might open it at some point and see what he had written.
Creating a new folder, she named it brEAKUP and slid the email into it.
Keaton returned, smelling wonderful and appearing freshly-shaved. Though he was handsome clean-shaven, he was also appealing with a bit of stubble.
“Let me tell you about the two dishes we’ll make, and then we’ll get out all the ingredients,” he said.
The first one he called Miss Peggy’s Potatoes, saying, “This is something Miss Peggy only made twice a year, at Easter and Christmas. I swear I could have eaten nothing at those holiday dinners but these potatoes and been totally happy.”
He listed the ingredients, which included shredded hash browns, cream of chicken soup, sour cream, butter, and cheese.
Lots of cheese and butter. He got out everything they would need and greased a 9x13 glass pan, opening the thawed hash browns and scattering them in the pan.
Then he dumped each ingredient, one at a time, into a giant bowl, and Layne stirred everything well.
Keaton had her spread the potato mixture over the potatoes.
“Run the back of the spoon up and down until everything is nice and even.”
She did as instructed, smoothly the mixture, and he sprinkled more sharp, shredded cheese atop it. Then he took out a box of cereal, which totally confused her.
“The secret ingredient,” he announced, grinning broadly.
He tossed a few handfuls of cornflakes into a Ziplock bag. After sealing it, he placed it on the counter.
“Take the heel of your hand and mash it against the cornflakes,” he told her. “Not too much. Just rock enough to break it up some.”
When he was satisfied with her effort, he had Layne sprinkle the crunchy mix atop the casserole.
“The cornflakes don’t actually add any taste to the casserole because they’re so bland, but the crunch they provide is a nice surprise and balances the creaminess of the potatoes.”
Keaton picked up a plastic lid and popped it into place atop the casserole dish. Sliding it into the fridge, he said, “On to round two. Pineapple Stuff.”
“Wow, that’s an original name,” she said sarcastically.
“It’s something Miss Peggy’s mom made. She could never remember the actual name of it, so she nicknamed it Pineapple Stuff. Let me grab everything that goes into it.”
Once again, he set out all the ingredients they would need in an organized fashion before greasing a round, porcelain dish.
This time around, she blended beaten eggs with crushed pineapple, sugar, and whipping cream gently, per his orders.
Then Keaton had them tear up several dinner rolls into small, bite-sized pieces, which they added to the mixing bowl.
Layne stirred in the bread and then transferred everything in the bowl to the casserole dish.
Keaton placed it in the fridge, as well, saying, “We’ll bake these in a couple of hours before we head over to Mr. and Mrs. Perry’s house. I’ve got a warming tray I’ll take with us. I didn’t want to be presumptuous and assume there would be room in the oven for me to bake both dishes over there.”
They went into the small living room and sat on the couch.
“I spent my fair share of Christmases at their house. Mrs. Perry always said Mom and Dad were on vacation at Christmastime and wouldn’t let them bring anything to eat.
Piper’s family would also join us. It was my blood family and my chosen family coming together to celebrate Christmas, my favorite day of the year. ”
Her throat swelled with emotion, and Keaton slipped his hand around hers. He took her mind off her sadness, telling her about the series of paintings he had just completed.
“I’ll keep one to hang in my new house. Maybe another one to sell at the gallery. The rest I’ll drive up to the Clifford Gallery in Dallas. They’ve represented me from the beginning.”
“You personally deliver the paintings you create each time?”
He shrugged. “It’s easier for me to transport them than pack them.
I worry about them being damaged if I ship them.
That happened once when I sent some from Wyoming.
One canvas was beyond repair. I swore then that I’d never ship any of my work again.
I’ve only had to make one trip north since I moved to the Bay.
This’ll be my second time to make the trip. ”
“Were you thinking about doing that anytime soon?” she asked.
“Probably sometime this week. Why?”
“Could I go with you? I need to pack up the rest of my clothes and some personal items and bring them back to the Bay. I also want to talk to a realtor about putting my house on the market.”
He eyed her with interest. “So, are you considering a permanent move to Driftwood Bay?”
“I don’t know if the Bay will be a temporary stop or a permanent move at this point,” she said, not ready to make a commitment just yet. “I’ll definitely stay during the renovation. By then, I’ll have had time to think about what I want to pursue next and go from there.”
Keaton nodded thoughtfully. “Good plan.”
“I know I don’t want to be in Dallas. I might as well bring my things here for now.” She hesitated. “If it’s not convenient for you, though, I’ll simply fly back and handle everything.”
“No, let’s drive together. I’d like that.”
“We’ll make it a real road trip. I’ll buy snacks. And we must stop at Buc-ees. That’s a given.”
“I got gas at one once. They had a ton of pumps.”
“Oh, it’s so much more than gas pumps. The cleanest restrooms you’ll ever find on a road trip. Beaver nuggets. Pina Colada Icees. Terrific BBQ sandwiches.”
“It sounds as if you have road tripping down to a science.”
“I went on vacation with both the Perrys and the Roberts every summer since Mom and Dad were tied up with their busy season. Believe me, I know how to organize a good car trip.”
“When would you like to leave?”
Layne thought a moment. “Let me talk with Chief Roberts at lunch today. He may have an update on when the bodies will be released and the funeral can be held. Before, he seemed to think it would be late this coming week. If so, we could drive up in the next day or two.” She paused.
“Are you sure you don’t mind me inviting myself along? ”
“Not at all,” Keaton assured her. “Road trips help friends bond.”
The way he looked at her, though, heat in his eyes, Layne wondered just how long either of them would be able to hold out and simply remain friends.