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Maggie takes a lid off a storage jar on the counter and holds up some teabags. “English breakfast, Earl Grey, peppermint, or lemon ginger?”
“Earl Grey for me, please,” I say.
“Me too,” Elliot adds.
“Jim?” Maggie calls to the end of the room. “English breakfast, Earl Grey, peppermint, or lemon ginger?”
“English breakfast, please. Oh”—he takes off his glasses, puts down his magazine, and walks toward us—“and could I have a drop of that good milk in it? The stuff you got from the farm shop. It’s excellent. Elliot, do you want to try?—”
“I’m fine, Dad, thanks.” He digs his fingers into my waist, sharing his exasperation. “So, Mom. Hannah?”
“Yes. I was asking Jude—she owns the plant shop—if she had any advice for what type of greenhouse to get, when this other young woman walked through from the back.” Maggie drops our selected tea bags into the mugs. “Jude turned to her and said, ‘There’s a fellow Bostonian here, Hannah.’ Well, this young woman stopped in her tracks and stared at me for a good few seconds. Like I was a ghost or something. So I said, ‘Hello,’ trying to be polite. And she said, ‘Mrs. Dashwood?’”
Maggie leans back against the counter and folds her arms. “Well, you could have knocked me over with a feather, because I had no clue who this young woman was. Then she said she was Hannah Hepburn and, well, you could have knocked me over with another feather—an even smaller one. What a surprise. Didn’t recognize her with long hair. Turns out she’s Jude’s cousin. Staying with her for a while.”
“Wow,” Elliot says. “Yeah, that’s a strange coincidence. Anyway, so?—”
“Poor girl seems to have had a bit of a hard time of it. She’s looking for work, and Jude’s shop isn’t busy enough in the winter for her to get many hours, so?—”
The kettle whistles behind her. She springs into action to turn off the heat and slosh the water onto the tea bags. “Since you boys have been nagging at me to get some help with this place, I’ve given her a job as our housekeeper.”
“That’s fantastic, Maggie,” I tell her. “This is such a huge house to look after by yourselves.”
“Yes.” She puts mugs down in front of me and Elliot. “And it’ll be nice to have a girl around the house to chat with.” She looks pointedly at Jim as she opens the fridge to get the milk he wanted.
He looks at us and shrugs. “Apparently I’m not a good conversationalist when it comes to which pair of gardening shoes is cuter than the other.”
“Yeah, Mom. Really pleased you’re getting help.” Elliot gets off the stool and slides his hand up from my waist to my shoulder. “But remember about two hours ago, when I mentioned we had something to tell you?”
“You’re a cruel and heartless boy, Elliot Dashwood,” Maggie says, handing Jim his tea. “I thought I had a good story.”
“You did,” Elliot says. “And, actually, we can show you our news instead of telling you.”
He nods to my left hand that’s buried as deep in my pocket as I could get it.
I pull out my fingers slowly, unable to control the giant grin spreading across my face of its own free will, and hold it out toward Maggie and Jim.
“Oh my God,” Maggie says, rushing around the island and gathering me into a big hug. “Congratulations!”
After squeezing me till I think my lungs might pop, she lets go and smacks Elliot on the arm. “Why the hell didn’t you tell your rambling mother to shut up?” Then she smushes his cheeks with both hands, plants a loud kiss on his forehead, and throws her arms around him for good measure.
“Come here, daughter-in-law-to-be,” Jim says, giving me a gentle fatherly embrace. “I could not be more delighted. This fella here”—he moves on to hug Elliot—“has never looked as happy in his life.”
Maggie’s hands are on her own flushed cheeks now, her eyes brimming. “You make such an adorable couple. You’re absolutely perf?—”
A ringing sound erupts near the fireplace in the cozy end of the room.
“My tablet,” Maggie says. “It’s only you boys who call me on it, so let’s see who it is, and we can share the good news.” She trots the length of the room. “This is so exciting. Couldn’t be happier. So fabulous.”
She picks up the tablet from the coffee table. “Oh, it’s Tom!”
She answers the call and carries the tablet back toward us. “Hello, darling,” she says to the screen. “Look who’s here.” She turns it around to face me and Elliot, and we wave at Tom.
“Let me put you on the counter so we can all see you.” She pulls the kickstand out of the back of the case and props him up facing the four of us. “Perfect timing, Tom. We have news!” She widens her eyes and tips her head toward Elliot.
“Yeah,” Elliot says a little awkwardly, possibly because the expression on Tom’s face suggests he might be calling to say his beloved cat has passed away. “Charlotte and I just got engaged.”
“Wow, that’s amazing.” Tom says, and his smile, though small, is genuine. “Congratulations, guys. You’re a lucky man, Elliot. No idea what you see in him, though, Charlotte. But I guess he’s a decent enough guy, so you’ll probably be okay.”
