Lizzie
Chapter Thirty-Four
Today might be the most fun I’ve had in this kitchen since I bought it.
“Ruthie, have you ever heard the story of the little red hen?” Layla asks.
“Is that the one who thought the sky was gonna fall? I know that one. My sister’s kinda like that.”
“Ruthie,” Tillie scolds, “that’s mean.”
“It’s true, and I’ve said it to her face. She needs to have a more cheerful outlook on life, like me.”
Delaney snickers, and Lydia, Holden’s mom, watches from the opposite end.
There are six of us gathered around the long stainless-steel workspace that sits in the middle of the kitchen, with bowls of frosting in front of each of us and the smell of baking cinnamon rolls in the air. It’s a wonderful way to spend a Saturday morning.
Layla giggles and shakes her head at Ruthie. “No. The little red hen is the one that was making bread, and no one helped her. None of them. And so, when it came time to eat the bread, the little red hen said only the people who helped could have some.”
“What are you trying to say, kid?” Ruthie asks teasingly.
Tillie speaks up. “I think she’s saying that you’ve not helped with the cinnamon rolls. You’ve just sat on that stool trying to get fresh gossip from each of us.” The affection she has for the woman is audible in her voice.
“Whatever. I’m helping Ladybug over here.”
“No, you’re not,” Layla says. She’s grinning from ear to ear.
“Hey, I stirred your frosting a couple of times. Plus, you’ll share with me, I’m your best friend, Ladybug.”
“No, you’re not my best friend,” she says.
“What? Who is your best friend?” Ruthie feigns being appalled, but it’s obvious she’s teasing.
“Simon. He’s in my class at school, and at recess we hang out, and sometimes we play tetherball. But most of the time we walk around and do different things. Sometimes we look for bugs. He likes that.”
It warms my heart to hear her talk about her friendship with Simon like that.
Layla glances over at Ruthie, who wears a fake sad expression. Her eyes dance with amusement.
Layla tilts her head. “I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings. You’re my best grown-up friend.”
Ruthie smiles. “I am?”
“Yep. Uncle Harry’s my favorite uncle, but I love them all. Simon is my best boy friend.” She stops, realizing what she said, and her cheeks turn pink. “I mean, boy, that’s a friend. Just so we’re clear. I don’t have a boyfriend. I don’t need a boyfriend. They’re trouble.”
“Not always. My boyfriend isn’t too bad. He even —”
“Nope,” Tillie says. “No Ruthie and Mr. Whitaker stories. They’re never child-appropriate.”
Ruthie huffs but grins at her.
I glance at Delaney. She and Harrison had some problems recently, but they’ve worked everything out. Still, I think the few weeks they were apart were hard on both of them.
“Well, what do you two ladies think about boyfriends?” Ruthie asks. She’s staring right at Delaney and me.
“Delaney has a boyfriend,” Layla chimes in. “I got him for her.”
Lydia chuckles. “That you did, Ladybug. I don’t think any of us will forget you dragging poor Delaney across the reception hall to get her to meet your Uncle Harry.”
There are a few laughs, and each adds something to the retelling of the story for my benefit.
“That would make a perfect meet-cute for one of Georgie’s books,” I say.
“Oh boy, as long as she changes the characters,” Delaney chimes in, her cheeks pink.
“Where is Georgie today?” Tillie asks.
“Heath had some last-minute guests at the house. He doesn’t get home for another week or so, but a few of his teammates are staying for a couple of weeks. I guess Georgie’s helping get them set up.”
“I’m sorry, did you say that Georgie has a bunch of football players in her care?” asks Ruthie.
“Three, I think,” I add.
“Now that would make a nice meet-cute,” Ruthie says. She winks.
“Ruthie, you better mean that in a G-rated way.”
Layla looks confused. “What does that mean, Ruthie? G-rated?” she asks.
I’m pretty sure I’ve never seen Ruthie at a loss for words. No one helps her, and she searches for an answer.
“It’s when something is good for kids.”
The timer on the oven dings, and Ruthie is saved by the bell.
A few minutes later, we’ve all frosted our cinnamon rolls. Lydia walks around and inspects each one, dipping her index finger in everyone’s frosting bowl to taste-test it.
When she returns to her spot at the head of the island, she smiles. “Everyone made excellent cinnamon rolls. My mom would’ve been proud of you all.”
“Assuming they taste okay inside,” Tillie jests.
“They’ll taste wonderful inside, Tillie. Trust me.”
Lydia chuckles. She pauses for a minute and looks around the table.
“Five boys blessed our lives, and I love every one of them dearly, but sometimes I wished we could’ve had a little girl too, so that we could have moments like this.
Moments where I can pass down my mom’s cinnamon roll recipe, which she got from her mom.
But I’m so happy that each of you came into our lives and I can share this with you. ”
The other women murmur similar sentiments. I feel a bit out of place.
Layla climbs off her stool, comes over to me, and taps me on the shoulder. I turn to face her, and she waves me closer with her hand held up at the side of her mouth so no one can see what she’s saying.
She whispers to me, “Don’t worry. You count in this, too. Plus, you’re going to be Uncle Holden’s girlfriend.”
I’m speechless, which I think pleases her based on the grin she’s wearing, and she returns to her barstool.
The other women at the table all wear knowing smiles. I imagine Layla has done this several times. What none of them know, however, is that I don’t have that kind of freedom—freedom to follow my heart.
“All right, the guys should be here in about half an hour. We’ll let them each have one cinnamon roll before dinner, and they have to wait until after dinner to have a second one.”
Layla adds, “And if Uncle Harrison gets bossy, I’ll handle him.”
Laughter breaks out at the table, and we clean up our mess but leave the cinnamon rolls on the island for later.
“Lizzie, do you have keys to lock this kitchen?” Lydia asks.
“Yeah, I do.”
“I think we should lock it. I know my boys, and they won’t care what we tell them. If they know where these are, they will ravage them before we have time to eat dinner.”
After that, everyone leaves to go across the street to play and sit in the square except me.
I have to prep for my practice lesson with the group in thirty minutes.
I’m going to teach everyone here how to make meatloaf and roasted potatoes so that when my first event—a small group of teachers—happens next week, it’s not my first time.
I’m nervous but excited. As I’m setting things up, Delaney walks into the area.
“Hey, is everything okay? You need something to drink?” I ask her.
“No, I just thought that I’d help you.”
“Oh, you don’t have to, but if you want to, you can. Or just keep me company. I think I have pretty much everything prepared.”
“Okay, that’s good. That shows that you can do a lot of the prep ahead of time.”
“Yeah. I’m very nervous.”
“Don’t be nervous. This is family. Besides, Holden has been bragging about your cooking skills and your plans here nonstop, so I have to assume there’s at least some truth to it.”
I laugh. “Well, I’m embarrassed that he’s been bragging about it, but I hope his opinion is accurate. He and Simon have been my taste tasters for different recipes. He’s been so incredibly helpful to me.”
“Yeah, that’s Holden. He’d give you the shirt off his back if you needed it, and when any of us need help, he’s always the first to volunteer.”
“Really?”
“Yes, but I will say that I think he’s going a little above and beyond with you, so there must be a reason for that.”
There’s a slight smirk on her face, and I know she means there’s more to us than meets the eye.
“That doesn’t surprise me about him. He was always so thoughtful back in college until—shoot. Never mind.”
“I know what he did,” Delaney says quietly.
“You do?”
“Holden and I have had some good conversations. When Harrison and I were apart, it was heart-to-heart talks with Holden that made me realize what I would lose if I stayed away from Harrison.”
“Why did he tell you about college? And did he tell you—”
“Don’t worry. He didn’t spill any of your secrets except that you broke up and you started dating someone else.”
“You know the funny thing is, Holden and I weren’t even really dating.”
“Yes, he said you spent all your time in the library, which is super romantic, by the way. Now that’s a meet-cute.”
I laugh, but what she doesn’t know is that the fact that I’d rarely see him outside of the library was a painful point in our relationship. I force the thoughts away.
“Do you want a glass of wine?” Delaney nods.
I walk over to the bar, uncork the bottle, and begin to pour us each a glass.
“Oh my gosh, those bar doors are absolutely gorgeous.”
“I know. When Holden brought them over, I fell in love.”
“You fell in love?” The teasing air in her voice matches the sparkle in her eyes.
I look at her and chuckle. “Yeah… with the doors. They’re gorgeous. Henry did an amazing job on them.”
Delaney’s eyes widen.
“What?” I ask her, noticing the change in her expression.
“Henry didn’t make those doors, Lizzie.”
“He didn’t? Then who did?” I ask.
She studies me quietly for a few seconds before speaking. “Who do you think made those doors?”
I don’t answer right away. It can’t be.
“Did Holden make me the doors?” I whisper. My heart races. It pounds in my chest, and I suck in a deep breath, needing a minute to grasp what she just told me.
“He’s not a carpenter,” I say.
“No, he’s not. But he probably told you how he used to spend time with his dad working on projects.” She pauses. “Holden made those doors.”
And suddenly, I can’t breathe.