Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 88992 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 445(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88992 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 445(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
But it has nothing on the kitchen.
Geese in bonnets with dusty blue bows dot the border just above the orangey-hued cabinetry. Containers labeling their contents line up below the microwave. There are blue and white-striped curtains framing a window above the sink that looks out across the back meadow and if someone showed me a picture of this room and asked me what decade I thought it was from, I’d say the nineties. It’s brilliant.
“Hartley didn’t give me much time to work with, but I did the best I could,” she says, taking a few margarine containers from the fridge. “I had some leftover rotisserie chicken from Millers, so I whipped up a few different wraps and put them in here.” She sets the tubs down and pats one of them. “I did a bacon ranch version, a Caesar style, and a buffalo one because I know that’s Brooks’s favorite.”
I press my lips together as heat crawls up my neck, coloring my cheeks. She knows I’m going on a road trip with Brooks?
“This one has some fruit in it,” she says, putting the tubs into a large wicker basket. “I peeled some clementines, added some grapes, blueberries. I cut up a few strawberries, too. I called Astrid a few minutes ago and she said you didn’t have any food allergies. If that’s wrong …”
“No. That’s right. I don’t.”
I’m speechless. I literally don’t know how to respond to all of this.
She looks up and smiles, resting her arms over the basket. “What’s wrong, honey?”
“Nothing,” I stammer. “I’m just … thank you. This is so incredibly kind of you. You didn’t have to go to all this trouble.”
“Trouble? This is what I do. I come here every morning and take care of Hartley and whoever else shows up each day. It’s how I find my joy in life, to be honest.”
Wow. I’m sure I look like a fool standing in one spot staring at her like she’s from outer space, but a woman who doesn’t know me is going out of her way to dote on me—to pack me a picnic basket—is wild. Who is she? Where am I?
My mom, God love her, would have a chef put something together or order takeout before sending me on my way. I’m grateful for her and that she always made sure I was taken care of and had what I needed. She’s a blessing. But having Cathy take time out of her day to create something with her own two hands is something new for me. It isn’t awkward, it’s just … special.
“There are some chips and a little candy in here, too,” she says, closing the basket lid. She glances outside and then turns back to me. “I’d hate for you to carry this all the way back to the cabin. Do you want me to hop on the side-by-side and drive you back with it? Or, you can have Brooks swing by on your way out?”
“Maybe stopping to get it on the way out would be best.”
“I think so, too. And since I have a bit more time, I’ll toss a few more things in there for you.”
“Cathy,” I say, holding out a hand, “you’ve already done way too much.”
“Nonsense.” She opens the lid again. “This is what we do out here. We take care of each other. And I love those boys as if they’re my own kids—even Brooks, even though I want to shake the shit out of him more times than not.”
I laugh. “If you’re sure …”
“I’m sure. It’s kind of fun to pack for a romantic getaway. And since Hartley apparently isn’t going to give me a reason to do that, then I guess I’ll do it through Brooks.”
My brows pull together, and a hundred questions sit on the tip of my tongue. Cathy seems like the keeper of secrets for the guys and I think she’d be all too willing to share what she knows. But Hartley’s life is really none of my business—less of my business than Brooks’s life.
“Okay,” I say. “I guess I’ll go finish packing before Brooks gets back from church. Thank you, Cathy, truly. You’re amazing.”
“It’s no problem. I’m glad I can help. And I’m always here if you need anything at all. Ask Astrid. We get into some fun projects together.”
The way she says my friend’s name—with warmth and affection—makes my shoulders relax. It’s nice to know that Astrid has a village of people when she’s here to take care of her and be her people. I love this for her so much.
“Okay, you shoo,” she says, waving me off. “I have things to do. I might have a can of whipped cream in the refrigerator in the basement.” She wiggles her brows. “You know. Just in case you and Brooks need a prop.”