Bree
I woke up to a text from Nancy asking if I wanted to make breakfast together. I immediately agreed, thinking she meant French toast or waffles or something equally normal.
Nope. The woman brought over the ingredients to make eggs Benedict, intent on teaching me each step of the process, which she did with exactness and immense patience.
I’m no chef. Everything from poaching the eggs to the time-intensive hollandaise took twice as long with me at the stove than it would have without. Or so I assume.
By the time we sit down at the table with four plates of food, though, I’m not sure I’ve ever been so proud. I can’t stop staring at the masterpiece that came from my work in the kitchen. I produced this.
Nancy watches me with amusement, her blue eyes dancing. “I’ve called Benny, and the boys are on their way over.”
“They haven’t eaten?”
She adjusts her coral button-down, which sits open over a yellow floral shirt. Yes, her linen capris match her button-down to perfection. There’s no way they didn’t come in a set. “I might have warned the boys not to eat.”
“Diabolical.” Since they’re her grandsons, I can’t blame her. I’m not disappointed, either. Not by a longshot. Each time I get to see Benny, my pulse dials up. I yearn to close the distance. It feels as dangerous as it is exhilarating.
When he joked about coming in last night, I almost let him.
It wasn’t entirely clear what he meant by that phrase…
tuck me in? See me to bed because I was afraid of every shadow and he knew that, or something more?
When we were sixteen, we had some epic make out sessions.
The half-second his lips grazed mine in front of those cows the other day was enough to prove we haven’t lost that spark.
If we light a match, will we both go up in flames?
There’s a quick knock at the front door before it swings open. “We’re here,” Colby calls.
“Come in,” I say. I know it’s his house, but right now, it’s mine.
The men sit at the breakfast table and inhale. “Smells great,” Benny says. He looks at Nancy’s feet, admiring her pedicure in strappy sandals. “Nice nails, Grandma.”
“Thanks. Bree did them.” She practically preens, showing off her fingernails, too.
Benny looks good in board shorts and a stone blue T-shirt. His dark hair is wind-dried and sticking up in some places, which makes me assume he spent time surfing this morning. He’s a bit unkempt, and I like it.
“This is amazing,” Colby groans.
Nancy beams proudly. “Bree’s first time poaching eggs and making hollandaise sauce.”
“Nailed it,” Colby says around another bite.
Benny cuts a bite and nods. “It’s excellent. Well done, both of you.”
Their praise fills me with something warmer and firmer than the accolades I usually get about my music or modeling or any of the other entertainment-related work I do, and I don’t quite know why. I take a bite, making sure to get every layer on my fork, and they’re right. It’s good.
That is, of course, owing to Nancy’s prowess in the kitchen, but we all know that. It’s nice of anyone to offer me credit at all.
“How were the waves?” Nancy asks.
“Great.” Colby chews a bite and chases it with orange juice. “It’s going to be a warm one today, I think.”
“Oh. Rose is coming by to help weed my garden, so we’d better get started soon,” Nancy says.
“You don’t want to play hooky on your chores and come explore Bodega with us?” I ask. “We could take selfies in front of the school and run away like the birds are chasing us.”
She gives me a quizzical look. “I think you like the movie more than I do.”
I laugh. “So that’s a no?”
“Not today. I’d better work on my garden before it gets too hot.” She glances at the dirty kitchen.
I wave her toward the door. “Come on. I’ll take care of the dishes. You did most of the work anyway.”
“Now, Bree—”
“Thank you.” I give her a big hug when we reach the door.
She doesn’t seem to expect it, but her arms eventually come around me. “What’s this for?”
“I don’t know why you think it’s your job to make sure I’m fed, but thank you.”
She laughs, pulling away. “How do you know I’m not taking advantage of having a superstar in my backyard?”
“Because I don’t think you’re that kind of person.”
Nancy’s smile warms. Her shoulder length white hair swings as she gives me an affectionate pat on the shoulder before she lets herself outside. “I’ll see you later, honey.”
When I make it back to the kitchen, the men are talking in low voices.
“I don’t get it,” Benny says.
“She probably needed a purpose.”
“Your grandma?” I ask, sliding back into my seat. They look at me.
Colby sets his fork on his empty plate and pushes it away.
“She never leaves her house, Bree. She even sold her car a few months ago because it’s done nothing but gather dust the last few years.
Since her heart surgery, we can’t get her to go anywhere, really.
But she’s walked over here a handful of times in the last week, all on her own.
That’s well outside her typical comfort zone. ”
“Maybe that’s the difference.” I shrug. “I could be within her comfort zone.”
“You definitely are,” Benny says. “I think Colby’s onto something, too. You give Grandma a purpose somehow. She’s always been the one to take care of things, and she didn’t like it when we had to come in and take care of her.”
“She wouldn’t even answer my calls when I was on the road, because she didn’t like me checking on her.” Colby chuckles in an exasperated way. “Stubborn woman.”
Benny nods to me. “But you’re someone who needs care, in her opinion.”
It’s been a long time since I’ve had someone watch out for me the way Benny and Nancy have.
Yeah, I’ve had bodyguards or Lonnie or hired security, depending on the event or the travel, but paying someone to make sure a crazy fan doesn’t attack me isn’t the same as having someone genuinely care for my wellbeing.
It’s entirely different. It’s beautiful. I feel like I matter—not like I’m an expensive, important commodity to be protected.
“What can I do to help?” I ask.
“Let her keep doing what she’s doing, I guess,” Colby says.
“It’s not really a trial. I really like hanging out with her.”
He gives me a slightly disbelieving look, but Benny buys it. What happened to make this guy so skeptical?
I nod slowly as I begin to understand what he makes me think of. “You remind me of my sister.”
“Thanks?” he asks.
“Not sure if it’s a compliment or not, if I’m being honest.” I push back from the table. “Should we leave in an hour? I’d better shower first.”
“Sounds good.” Benny stacks our plates and carries them to the sink.
“Which sister?” Colby asks.
“Both, actually. Zoey’s business acumen mixed with Olive’s bluntness. I’d be afraid of having the three of you in the same room.”
“Well, fortunately, that will never happen.” He flashes me a smile. “Thanks for breakfast, Bree.”
“You’re welcome.”
He heads out while Benny starts the dishes, but I nudge him aside. “Go home.”
“I can help clean up first.”
“I’ve got this.”
He doesn’t push it, which I appreciate. Instead, he turns off the water and dries his hands. “You like playing house, don’t you?”
“I’m not going to lie, there’s something quaint about it that’s filling my cup right now.”
His body freezes. I can immediately tell I’ve said the wrong thing. For the life of me, I have no idea what could be negatively interpreted from that. I cast my net wide, searching for something to say to reel him back in, but I can see from his shuttered expression that I’ve lost him.
What the heck?
“I’ll see you in an hour, then.” He gives me a half-baked smile and heads for the door, and I watch him leave with no earthly idea what I did.
I stare at the space where he was standing momentarily before shaking my head and getting to work on the dishes.
Never in all the time I’ve known Benny—both as teens and as adults—has he been melodramatic.
Never has he been prone to blowing things out of proportion or being easily offended.
He personifies the word chill. The man is a walking refrigerator full of chamomile tea.
Yes, I know that’s not a thing.
I let out a huff and scrub at the pan extra hard, then wipe my hair from my eyes.
Whatever happened back there, I’m going to get to the bottom of it.
Today.
I’m only slightly disappointed when Benny picks me up in the truck.
I like holding on to him on the back of his bike, but we can’t really talk with the roaring engine and the wind, so the truck is the better option.
The town of Bodega—not to be confused with the town of Bodega Bay—is only ten minutes inland, and before I know it, we’re slowing, the road curving drastically.
Each side of the street is dotted with antique stores, art galleries, and restaurants painted light blue and red and white.
Benny pulls to the right and drives up an incline, then points. “There it is.”
I lean to see through my window, clocking the schoolhouse and church directly to our right.
They’re both old, and they look like they’ve been here longer than any other building in this town—except maybe the Victorian house across the street.
The white clapboard church rises into a steeple high above a wide double door and a set of stairs.
It’s beautiful and set on a rise overlooking the verdant hills dotted with cows.
The breeze comes in from the ocean, though we can’t see the water, but the salty smell is fresh.
The schoolhouse looks much like it did in the movie even though it’s been restored, painted cream with hunter green trim.
Benny gets out of the truck and comes around to meet me. “What do you think?”
“I love it. It’s such a vibe. What kind of church is this?”
“Catholic. Actually, Ansel Adams photographed it, so that’s its other claim to fame.”
I shoot him a smile before heading toward it. “Look at you, all full of facts.”
“I figured you’d want to know some of the history.”
“You’re not wrong. When was it built?”